


Morpheus Rising

by JuJuwana



Category: Labyrinth
Genre: Angst, Complete, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuJuwana/pseuds/JuJuwana
Summary: Of passion, of love, of consequence, of hope. What happens when Sarah wishes herself away to the Goblin King?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth or the characters within. Only original characters are my own.

He crouched, his head bent. Broken.

One balled fist held him steady on the cobblestone flooring, misshapen all around him. The other pummeled his chest, his heart. It throbbed.

Around him draped a grayish-white feathered cape, his legs in gray leggings and tall boots that touched his knees. His shirt unfastened to mid-chest flowed out over his pale wrists. It should have been his wedding attire. Instead, it was more like a death shroud.

The hurt of abandonment—no, rejection, pixelated and encapsulated the air around him. Glitter fell like rubbish, mere garnishment, at his feet. He had lost her.

Jareth slowly lifted his eyes, blackened dark with dilation. His breath came in staggered exhalation. With each pound of his fist to his heart, he felt his power come to a semblance of restoration. 

Injured, but not lost, the king viewed his opportunity. He hadn’t completely damaged himself. He would recover, and go on to face her again. But...

He couldn’t let her touch that part of him again. He had been weak, longing for her. Letting her get inside him.

Who was she, Sarah, a mere mortal? He stumbled to his feet, eyes direct and cold as steely ice. The tatters of him shifted, fell.

Her kingdom as great…

She had taken so much, not knowing the cost. His heart still burned but he ignored the pain, letting it settle back in its place.

He would have her, at one price or another. This time she would not refuse him.  
*****  
"Take your medicine like a good girl, Sarah." 

She opened her mouth obediently. The white paper cup touched her lips, tasting like straw, dry and dusty.

She swallowed, the check made to see she did so. It wasn't so bad. Not if you complied. And Sarah had learned over the years to always comply.

For her, the medicine meant less thinking. She wouldn't miss a single dose, especially since they made her dreams less potent.

Thirty-five months, twenty-nine days and thirteen hours: the Oshall Mental Institution had kept her, unwilling and bound. But in less than half a day she turned eighteen and could legally sign herself out, imprisoned no longer.

Maybe she was crazy. Certainly, no one else in her family had seen her friends, though they crowded her room and danced around, almost in their eyesight—for just one lonely night. 

Nothing had stayed the same after that.

Nothing. Not even her will remained her own anymore. Being in the psych unit did that to a person. She heard his strange and lonely voice calling her. She willed that it was not real.

Sarah. Demanding.

Sar-ah. Beseeching.

Sss-arraah. Imploring.

The voice ran with discombobulation over her nerves. Sibilant, mesmerizing and full of want.

She held her hands over her ears. No! No, no, NO!

Sarah squeezed her eyes closed tight. It was happening again, not just this once but many times over the past three years.

With absentmindedness, she rubbed at the small reminder of her past through her pajamas: an owl’s feather, tattooed on her stomach by her left hipbone. It ached. She hadn't been rational to get such a mark, and the reminder of her folly would exist all her days. Now she would never forget Him.

Pervasively, she dreamed dreams. Nightmares. He would be in them—soothing and seductive, swaying her around in a macabre crystal ballroom where nothing was as it seemed. Except it was real and had happened. She would never touch a peach to this day, and the menu was jammed with them: fresh, baked and cobbled. The taunt he gave didn't miss her.

Eat this and you will forget everything.

She didn't want to forget. Not him, anyway. The Labyrinth she traversed was so haunting, she thought about it nightly.

Sarah. The voice called out, sexy, plaintive. Redemptive.

She pressed her eyes shut tighter. Go away!

She never dares say the words out loud. To do so would admit to craziness.

If only the man that caused her torture could remove her entrapment. Time and again, he caused her to sink further into herself, her body willing. Her mind not.

Come back, Sarah. The voice commanded with a seductive insistance. Come back before it's too late.

His siren song whispered to her. She ignored the plaintive call. The seductiveness rubbed her raw, but she turned her mind away from the deep and disturbing haunt.

"Sarah!" 

She sighed, dreamy and still thinking deep in her head. "Eddie."

He was a large man in his early to middle twenties, heavily muscled and quietly handsome with dark hair and topaz eyes. Post-traumatic Stress had placed him in the facility after years of serving on the battlefield. He was her cornerstone, the one that kept her calm.

"Are you alright, Sarah," Eddie said as he poked his head into the room. She put down her well-read book, Wuthering Heights. Eddie smiled when he saw she was re-reading it for the hundredth time.

She heard the voice call to her again—Sss-aarrah. He infected her mind, plagued her thoughts.

Outside the barred window came the plaintive hoot of a smallish owl, resting on the tree branches out of her view. She knew it was there, had been there watching every moment, every single day. His presence, just as he threatened.

Eddie looked out the window. "That stupid bird. It's like it follows you or something."

"Or something," Sarah said.

Rat-a-tat. Tat.

The beckoning grew insistent, and sounded like a whirring and beating across the panes. Tap. Tap.

The owl with wings of tinted silver hovered and instigated entrance. The feathery tips that played golden, brushed her barred window. No entrance. She wanted to laugh. Even the Goblin King couldn't get past the barriers of a madhouse.

"So you leave me, huh?" Eddie said, still standing in the doorway, his voice soft, and his handsome face pleased for her. That's what she liked about him. He never pressured her and he seemed to want the best for her.

"It's time. It's been too long."

"You are all that mattered in this place, Sarah." He flushed. She accepted and denied his deeper feelings at the same time. It was easier to pretend to be aloof.

"I'll be out of here soon, also. Check in with me, will you?" He continued as if her quiet had been a response. “You know you’ll always have a home with me.”

She nodded, still deep in her thoughts, on the three-hour ride home she still had to face. The hospital was the only mental facility in upper state New York, and her unannounced arrival at her family's house wouldn’t be appreciated.

Eddie reached out as if to touch her hair, hovering over it. He rested his hand before he drew too near. "Promise you will come if you need to?"

"Yes. I promise."

He touched her cheek, after much hesitation. "Should you need me..."

Should you need me. Just call.

He left, reluctant. She leaned heavily on the door he had walked out of and eased it shut, wanting to be left alone with her thoughts.

She laid on the bed again, ignoring the owl that demanded attention, lavishing his lovely feathers in a vain plea. She picked up where she had left off in her book, but she found quickly that concentration eluded her.

She felt her eyes drift closed, her body relaxing, deep and penetrable. She lay in a limbo of half-awake. Lilting and enchanting music started to play, the laughter from the dancing attendants filtered into her brain. He was there—in the shimmery and false ballroom, where she had once forgotten almost everything. Intrusive, his actions lay like a weight on her restless body. He watched, though he wasn’t there.

She was no longer fifteen. She knew the promise that lay beyond the laughter. Bodies mounded in lascivious overplay, kissing and touching and full of magical brew that never satiated them. 

She searched, seeing him in momentary glances. His Majesty. She heard him singing his siren song. It was a betrayal on her nerves.

She spied him in the corner of her dream world, behind a black half mask with a clawed handle. He laughed at her, his sardonic grin breeding lust. No, she was no longer fifteen. The promise that had hinted so many years ago, revealed itself. He swayed forward, words on his lips.

He stood close enough to reach and touch him. His eyes beckoned. His hands snaked out to grab her. To make her his.

Sarah snapped open her eyes. Her body was tight, and her forehead sweaty. He almost had her. And she had almost wanted him to take her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah was awoken from a dreaming deep sleep in the middle of the night. Two thirty. She should have gone home hours ago. She rubbed her eyes, confused.

The head nurse stood over her. She tugged at Sarah’s arm, pulling it to her and testing the IV connection for fluid. "Wake up, Miss Williams," she said. "You have a treatment."

"Treatment?" Sarah groped the vestiges of moon dreams from her eyes. "I thought--" She paused, not comprehending. “I thought I was leaving.”

"No. You have to have the treatment scheduled.” The nurse looked at her clipboard, making a frown. “We are behind a little bit, but the doctor wanted to fit you in.”

“I already finished the paperwork.” Sarah protested. She had never liked the head nurse, beautiful but callous. Her fiery red hair scraped back into a meticulous tidy bun, accentuating her porcelain skin and tiny features. Now Sarah was shoved upwards, the woman's deceiving diminutive size overwhelming her. 

“One treatment. It’s not so bad,” she demurred. “It will make you forget--” she paused, looking at the clipboard again. “Everything.”

The nurse had the wheelchair sitting on the edge of the bed, so it was no use in fighting. Sarah took her obedient place, biting back angry retorts, and the nurse shoved her forward.

One last glance out the window. The owl couldn’t save her now. Blasted beast.

She wouldn't think about him. Beautiful, capricious and seductive. No, she wouldn't think. 

"Here we go.” They reached the empty, cold surgical room. “This won't be so bad, will it?" the nurse said, her face emotionless.

Sarah shook her head. No—it wouldn't be bad. Unless it worked. 

The woman's pale amber eyes flickered with disinterest as she connected the necessary strobes. Clip, tack, clip. She tapped on the IV tube in Sarah’s arm again, to check the fluid. 

There would be no later. She didn't want to forget. No, no! Forgetting was impossible. With fervency, she prayed. Or wished.

The tattoo throbbed. Marking her as his. Bound forever in a circling decay of her own mind, this was her last chance to call upon him. Freedom would be sweet.

She drew the words from deep inside her, where dreams came true and reality is irrelevant. She didn't say them out loud, not where the laughing and jaded doctors in the next room might hear her. But she wished them just the same.

Goblin King. Her inner torture consumed, and she didn’t know how reverence might benefit her.  Save me. Get me away from here. Please...

Wires connected to her head, likewise to her mind. In minutes the doctor would come in to monitor his procedure. Soon, it would be too late for salvation.

She heard the insistent beating at the window. Please let it be him. He had been there for these past three years. Don’t let him forsake her now.

Then, as if her prayer were heard, the single window flew open as if broken and the owl—covered in tatters and glitter, shaped into the magnificent man Sarah remembered.

He was beautiful. Powerful. Not hers. She had given up that right years ago. He tipped his silvery blond head at her, a gleam on his thin sensuous lips.

"Well, well." He coyly teased the words. "You seem to be in a dilemma," he said, no amusement in his voice. "You want something from me, young woman." It was a statement of fact. He slid his hands behind his back, pacing around in the hospital room, eyeing her supine form. "And what is your wish?" 

He tugged at his right earlobe and frowned, swaying near her entranced body. He didn’t want to be there.

She breathed him in: musk and spice and new sex, standing so close he almost brushed against her. He didn’t touch.

From the next room, the doctor called to her: "Not long now, Sarah."

The king flinched, softly repeating her name, staggered before he recovered. He muttered under his breath. "Like a curse it betrays me."

She didn't answer. She couldn't keep her mind from basking him in, his lithe and stealthy body. It seemed she already had no control over her brain.

"What do you want of me?" He motioned his gaze over her still figure. His eyes darkened and his lips tensed.

"I will go wherever you put me, just get me out of this place," Sarah begged. How ironic that she thought she would never have to plead with him again.

“Is this your wish?” He talked to her like she was still a child, afraid of the dark. "Go where I want you. Interesting." 

"I meant it. Just take me away from here."

"Sarah." His lips purred her name. He gave no notion of recognizing her. "Do you know what you are saying?" 

"What's said is said," she answered. The words taunted him with their familiarity.

He jerked back, noticeable this time. "Well said." He stalked her. "I will take you. If you strike a bargain with me."

"What kind of bargain could I possibly make with you?" This brought alarm to her. She didn't want to put herself at risk, though he had no power over her, not anymore.

But what no one knew is that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl...

That was long ago. It didn't even apply anymore. Sarah looked at His Majesty, his eyes alight with icy and stormy blue. His one pupil faded to dark, the iris a black hole she wanted to escape and likewise hide in.

"You question me as if you have a choice. Nothing is free," he said. He paced around her, his sleek body nearly brushing hers.

"Fine. Let us strike a bargain. But I have some ground rules."

"Rules? As if you have the where-with-all to dictate." He paused, examining her, quiet and taking in her predicament. "Perhaps there may be some leeway. For a price."

"What price?"

He pretended to contemplate it with seriousness. His canary grin told otherwise.

"You will become mine if you fail. If you win, why, you are out of this place. Free."

His. 

She gulped. "Forever. Promise forever.” Hurry, hurry, or they will be here…

"My dear Sarah." Her name came out like rich chocolate over cream. "I wouldn't have it any other way." 

She heard the click-tap of leather soles in the hallway outside her door. She didn’t have much time to digest the terms.

"Fine, I agree—I will accept the challenge. But just so you know, I don't plan on losing."

He slithered by her ear, his breath hot on her cheek. "Then you have never played my special Labyrinth before, dear girl."

That's what he thought. She had played and won. And she would win again if only to keep her sanity. If that was the price she had to pay to leave, she would do it. She would do anything. 

The Goblin King pointed at a gilt clock, suspended in the air near the window. He stroked the hands as they circled around and around—like racing mice in a maze.

Time in demand. He motioned it so casually.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked. But inwardly she knew. He would give her little respite.

"Thirteen hours. That is the time you have to solve my Labyrinth." He sidled up to her, his breath warm and husky in her ear. "Or you belong to me." The king watched her intently. "I have no doubt I will make you mine."

She shivered as he brushed near. She comforted herself with her staid tone.

“You are mistaken if you think I’m going to lose.”

He circled her, silent steps in his booted feet. His cape billowed out from behind him, glitter filtering out about her. He sounded like wind chimes, stuck in a storm. He laughed a deep and delightful laugh. She had only served to amuse him. He made her equilibrium struggle, the air around him tight. She caught her breath, sinking him in, succumbing.

“You should be frightened, Sarah,” he said, his voice velvet silk, draping around her to soothe. It only served to inflame her, her nerves afire and her skin sensitive. He continued matter of fact. “Very few have won my Labyrinth.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Regardless, I’d like to try.”

He smirked. "Such a pity." He faded from view, her body loosened from its wire grip. A whoosh of air strangled her, and she inhaled nothingness. Her body screamed at the motion.

For three years she had dreamed of nothing but him, callous, cold and oddly compassionate. Now—in the instant—she was back at the front of the Labyrinth, alone and ready to run for her freedom. The outer walls beckoned her, its ever-changing whim seducing her.

Sarah didn't want to contemplate losing. Pride—it was her downfall. Even if losing meant being with him—forever. Still wearing her pajamas and the requisite socks that paired with them, she felt every stone and cobble as she walked forward.


	3. Chapter Three

Jareth felt an excitement that belied the ennui he usually confronted. So much time spent with Goblins had left him needing something new. Someone young and with imagination. Someone like...Sarah.

He stared down at the dirty floor of his throne room. His minions scattered about, and he had little interest in their day to day intrusion. They simply were. He had grown bored of his rulership a long time ago. Goblins were such simple creatures.

He had little to occupy his time and his active mind. He was, and felt, so alone. He stood, the feeling tossed aside.

Sarah. He paused. Her name shouldn’t be a setback or an instigation, yet he found it was. Her dreams. They called to him. After all, they were about him. 

The last runner had cost him. Everything, in fact. Not that this mortal girl knew anything about how much he had sacrificed. He swore he forgot about the previous winner. She would have aged and become an adult. 

So much he had forsaken when he lost to that whim of a mortal girl. His power. His dignity. What he wouldn't have given her: her dreams. His passion. He had betrayed himself, giving her more of him than she could have anticipated. All for what—Love? He wasn’t sure he could even feel the emotion anymore, as restlessness and bitter whim settled in.

Solve his Labyrinth! How the female mortal erred. This girl named Sarah would never solve his maze.

He prided himself on being as unpredictable, as uncaring as his creation, the maze. He was, after all, Goblin King. The Labyrinth and his horrid Goblins were all he had. He ran his kingdom as the Labyrinth ran itself, cold and calculating.

She would come begging to him. Then, at last, he would have her. Weak. Defenseless.

His. The way it should be. The way it should have been the first time. He was haunted by the one he could never have—gone from him forever. Oh, how he would have loved to see her face fall when he had her at last. How he would love to have her.

Jareth threw back his head and laughed. This would be more fun than he had imagined. After all, it was time for a distraction.

********

"Hoggle, where are you?" Frustrated, she had gotten nowhere.

Sarah ran in her stocking feet through the dingy outer walls of the maze. She recognized everything and nothing. Like a circle never changing, swaying around and around in endless completion, her name bantered back and forth in the Labyrinth. As if she belonged there.

In this place, a name was as good as a haunt: a burden. She dared speak of the king only in her dreams, where her words couldn’t be taken and plotted against her.

As if he heard her thoughts, she felt him behind her, his musky scent like dried leaves and spice. She wouldn't turn around, but it was no matter since he sidled up to her ear with his seductive voice.

"Giving up already?" The king said. His amusement galled her.

"Never. Besides, I have time. I just got here."

He murmured in her ear familiar words, “It’s longer than you think.”

“Whatever,” she retorted. 

He beguiled her with a plea, a whim of mercy. “You can always surrender and be mine. The castle is at your disposal.” He spread his palms wide, beseeching.

She said, a frown on her face. “And let you win? I think not.”

He echoed her expression. “Win, my dear? It is you who are winning if you comply. I am simply your obedient servant.” He lingered his gloved fingers near her bare throat, hovering but not touching.

“Yeah, right.” 

“My offer stands, precious thing.” 

“I am no one’s precious anything. And I have to get going,” she said.

Frustrated, she tried to block him out as she rubbed at her neckline. His touch had left a lingering tingle.

He watched her every motion, eyes dark with intent. He turned from her, but not before she noticed his deep inhale and throaty swallow. 

He looked at her closely. "What is it you are wearing?"

"Like it?"

"Your stockings are filthy.”

She retreated at the sight of his glittering eyes and aura of darkness around him. He was dressed in his Goblin armor, black vest and cape and obsidian leggings with tall black boots, just as he had looked when she first met him. He was devastating, and he knew it.

“That sort of happens when you walk in your socks.” 

He frowned. Her retort was little appreciated. He leaned in again, closer this time, abusing her senses.

"So Sarah, how are you enjoying my Labyrinth?" he said, the words kissing her ear. “You can give in anytime. I vow I will not fault you.”

“Give in? To you? Never.”

The king flinched as though she had slapped him. He regathered himself and stared at her. "You haven't even bridged the wall," he mocked. He sounded suspiciously as if he yearned to help her.

"It is only a matter of looking at it the right way, your Majesty."

"You must have something better to wear than those things."

"Do I offend you?" she said, not caring.

"Indeed you do.” He grinned at the rolling of her eyes.

"I have worn nothing but pajamas for the last three years," She said, practical.

He drew a circle around his lips with his forefinger, contemplative. He splayed his fingers out, circling a threesome of crystals. He held one up to her eyes.

Sarah looked, feeling guilty for her curiosity. Then she flinched: A ballroom. A shimmering girl in a gown of silver, with erotic dancing all around her. It was her dreams, the one he had bestowed on her all those years ago.

“No.” Blunt.

He frowned and cast the crystal to the ground, where it shattered in a cloud of dust. "Who are you?" he asked. He knew her name. He didn’t know her.

"I have told you. My name is Sarah." Obtuse.

He muttered, whisper quiet. “You will be the undoing of me yet." He perused her, then he spoke again. "I have a gift.” 

She knew gifts came at a certain price. "What do you want for it?"

"Come, come now. I cannot have you parading around my Labyrinth in those clothes."

"I'll take my chances."

"Sarah, don't defy me." 

"At what price?" she said, asking again. Her voice softened. He seemed genuine in his attempt to clothe her.

"I give my gift freely." He paused. "Of course," he said, "A small token would be appreciated."

She felt a brush of air against her body. He had already gifted her. A gown of greenish gilt, layered with ivy markings and twining in her hair. It was exquisite, rich and royal. She gulped, uneasy.

"Why do you do this?" she asked.

He shrugged, powerful yet oddly defenseless. "I have a certain fondness for girls named Sarah. I expect very little," the king said. Very little. She wanted to scoff. Just all of her.

"It's hardly practical."

"It's yours. Take it." It was a command. He leaned in again. "I can't having you going through my maze in your sleepwear." 

"What is my cost of the garment?" she said again. "The token that you speak of?" she said.

He looked at her momentarily, a dark bitterness spreading over his face. Then he grinned and placed his mouth gently to hers, his prize. It was a kiss for a child. She made a face, a fit of pique that when he kissed her for the very first time, she wouldn’t thoroughly enjoy it.

He backed up, his eyes wary. She saw his fists clench and unclench. He had been affected by the touch, even as she remained cautiously steady.

“Such a shame,” she said, “That your token does very little for me.” She kept the quiver of her voice in containment.

He glowered, his face a silken flame. The words fanned him, dangerous. Before she could blink he wrapped one strong arm around her waist, the other tugging under her long hair at her neck, as he pulled her into his body. Intense, almost frightening in its quickness. She lay flush against him, his body hard. Unyielding.

He breathed shallowly and full of want. He had still not recovered by his last gesture. She felt desire, knowing her imagination had nothing on the truth.

He held her close, his mouth mere centimeters from hers. He didn’t lower his lips to hers this time. He smirked, owning her without another betraying kiss. Their bodies flush, she inhaled him. So close. So very, close. It would be so easy to just reach up, ply her fingers through his thick, erratic hair and pull him back down to her. She licked her swollen lips.

“Is that all you have? I should find you easy to beat.”

She smiled in triumph until she saw the anger that made her pause. He could be frightening.

He roared, incensed by her words. He pulled a clock in front of them, airborne, their bodies still inches apart. He heaved his arm up and swirled the hands round and round, parading his power in front of her.

“You have wasted almost two hours now, my Sarah.” He acted like demanding time was of little effort. The king stepped back from her, pointing at his airy contraption.

“Ten hours and twenty-three minutes, precious thing,” he said, warning her. “Then you will be mine.” He started to fade and gave her a parting comment.

“Forever.”

He meant it. Sarah stood stock still, a bit of disbelief that he still played dirty, unfair. But she expected it, even as she expected to win. After all, games were her forte, too.

Drawing up the skirts of her gown, Sarah continued her mission. Nothing would make her fail, now. He had put up too much challenge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a small something to tide everyone over until I can next post!

Jareth growled. He meant to create difficulty in the runner’s trial, something she would never overcome. He hadn't planned on touching her. Now that he had tasted of her, he didn’t want to let her go.

He would cheat. Lie. Beg. Anything to keep Sarah with him. Anything to keep from being alone once more. He rubbed his chest, frowning. It hurt, like he had been pummeled so hard that the wind knocked out of his body. Reminding him of his failure.

Jareth sank into his cold stone throne chair. He felt so weary, so very bone tired.

Already this girl haunted him. His body felt like caving in under the pressure from her presence. 

He didn’t know how he would cope if she left.  He had to make her stay. Or he would be ruined.

He pulled a crystal and peered within. She covered much ground. It shouldn’t have surprised him, for as much as he wanted her to fail, he loved that she bravely marched on. 

She plied on, each step a pounding in his heart. He wouldn’t tolerate failure. His death came from her, the pretty torturer. If she knew what she did, her cruel eyes would mock. She wouldn’t excuse his pitiful want.

And oh, how he needed her. He had to win, or the Alone would embrace his heart, succumbing him to the numbness of his existence. She would kill him, as surely as if she plummeted an iron wielding sword into his body.

Such power she held over him. His Sarah. He smashed the crystal in his palm. 

Nothing could keep her from him. Not now.

Sarah kept tripping over the ballgown. He had provided leather soled satin slippers with small heels, but they were hardly conducive to running on cobblestone. Wry, she realized he had meant to slow her down. He was a king who always intended to win.

She fumed, frustrated. It was like an endless circle, this maze, paved with promises that would never deliver. She hated this place!

She amended her rash thoughts. The Underground had made her stronger. It was Oshall that had nearly broken her. If not for dear Eddie she would have been lost. 

She wished...no. She didn’t wish anything anymore.

She felt the hours pass, slipping away beneath her fingertips like a seductive whore. It petitioned her, begged her, denied everything.

She reverted. Painfully. "Oh! It's not fair!"

"No. It's not, is it my dear? The Goblin King appeared out of nowhere to tower over her, close in her personal space. Giving her no boundary. 

"Give up?" he smoothly asked.

He was dressed in feathers, soft white ones along his cape, with a frilly shirt and black leggings with tall heeled boots. He was beautiful. He should have looked oddly feminine in his garb, but he didn't. Like the beauty of the Labyrinth, she couldn’t let him sway her. He was dangerous.

"Never."

"Why," he managed to look affronted. "You don't want to stay with me and in my little kingdom?"

"I don't want to become a Goblin if you please."

"Goblin!" He roared with laughter. "I would never turn you into a dirty, disgusting creature. You are far more useful to me the way you are." His eyes were warm on hers, of that as a man to a woman he loved.

She changed the subject, her breath hitched and unable to function. He consumed her with his storm-driven eyes.

“I’ll take my chances with the Labyrinth,” she answered.

“Sarah.” He frowned. “You think too lightly of my gifts.” 

With a defiant and pointed gesture, he threw a crystal at the wall near her, letting her know she had again tested his faulty patience. It exploded, shutting down her next effective route.

She almost questioned why, but she knew. She had soundly rejected him once again.

“Just to make things more interesting, my love,” he mused, his mouth close to her lips. He hovered. He wouldn’t touch.

“If that is what you want,” she smoothly intoned, not letting him see he was getting to her, that she thought his play unfair. Love, indeed.

“What I want.” He made a point of contemplating her words. “You have no idea of what I want.” He was solemn.

“You want me to lose, to never go home. I think you know I cannot fail.”

“You can. And I’ll see to it,” he assured her, his eyes alight with promise. He faded away as if he had never been there.


	5. Chapter 5

Just when she thought she would scream from her repeated failure within the maze, Sarah felt the tug of air around her, the presence of nothing. She was being pulled like a lasso had grabbed her and confined her in. When she opened her startled gaze, she saw him, proud and observant. Watching her.

“You came,” he said, leaning against the wall. They were in a dark room, fashioned with black brocades and crimson velvet. The walls were shelved floor to ceiling with books. Stained glass windows edged with filigreed gold stood sentry to the north. It was a library, but not just any ordinary room. It was part of his private chambers.

“I didn’t have much choice.” She demurred. “What am I doing here?”

He broke away from the stone backing. “I have the need for some company. I thought--”

“What? You thought I should entertain you? Wasn’t I doing that already?” Sarah grew peeved.

He soothed with a dark toned caress. “Not enough. But perhaps I can think of ways.”

He was staring at her, and she felt exposed. “What am I doing here?”

“I thought we could play a game.” His voice was innocence.

“I believe that was what I was doing,” she reminded him.

He smiled, his pointed canines gleaming. “No, another sort of game. I think you will enjoy it.”

He stalked forward. She backed up, hitting the wall behind her.

“Hold out your hand.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“So cruel, dear Sarah. I ask nothing you cannot give. Now hold out your hand.”

With reluctance, she did as commanded. He grabbed her palm in his own.

He examined it carefully a moment, then he spoke. “I vow this, my dear Sarah. You will come to no harm under my observance. And while you are playing my game, you will not lose any time.” He watched her. “Do you agree?”

“What are we playing?” She remained cautious.

“Truth or dare.” He grinned. “I believe it is a popular game in your Above world.”

“Yeah, for a drinking game.” Wry.

“You want a drink?” His eyes widened slightly.

“Um, no. I am not old enough,” she said, prim. “So, the rules.” 

“The rules are simple. I ask a question. You answer truthfully, and if you do not, I give a dare. We will exchange turns.”

“How many questions?”

He pondered. “Until I get bored, of course.”

“Okay.” Cautious.

“I believe it is customary to shake on a bargain.” He leaned in, over her.

She pumped her hand in his, once. Tight and sharp.

He stepped back, pleased. “Relax, dear Sarah. Make yourself comfortable. I believe we will be preoccupied for some time.”

She perched on the nearest chaise lounge. It was cream and gold. Delightfully cozy.

He stalked her. Around and around her, he walked.

He never took his eyes off her. Finally, he said, “First question. An easy one, for you.” He whispered. “Are you enjoying my Labyrinth?”

It was the same question he had asked earlier when she had been hedged within the maze. Now she couldn’t lie her way out of it.

“I am glad to be here.”

Startled. “Why?”

“Is that another question? Because I don’t think--”

“Why?” he repeated. Firm.

“It’s different. Better than where I was.”

He nodded, accepting that answer. “Okay, that was easy, was it not? Your turn.”

“What do you want from me?” she said, hitting the heart of the issue.

He lowered his eyes. A sigh escaped him.

“I told you. I was bored. I wanted company.” He placed his hands behind his back, still pacing. “Next question is mine. What do you think of me?”

“You are a vain, pompous peacock, concerned only about your whim and circumstance.” 

He clucked his tongue, not amused. “I didn’t ask what you wanted to believe of me, but what you thought of me. Be honest, dear Sarah.” 

She ground her teeth. “You are intriguing.” She refused to say any more.

“Intriguing. Interesting.” Caressing the words.

She jerked to attention. “My turn.” She examined him, looking for weakness but finding none. “How long have you been here, in among the Labyrinth?”

He again looked startled, then sad. “Too long.” He mused. “Too damn long.”

She stood. “Well, this is entertaining, but I really must go.”

“Bored already? I can remedy that.” He smiled, wolfish. “Do you find me appealing?”

No forfeit. She wouldn’t accept a dare from his Majesty. She ground her teeth. 

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.” His voice lowered an octave, and he swallowed hard. She pretended not to notice his reaction. He said, “See, isn’t this fun?”

“Fun,” she spit. She bartered back at him. “Do you find me appealing?” In for a penny, in for a pound…

“Oh,” he soothed, velvet curse. “You have no idea.”

“That’s not an answer. Dare,” she snapped back. 

He bowed his head in careless defeat. “Indeed. Name your price.”

She had him. She debated her move.

“I dare you,” Sarah said, “To jump up and down three times and spin in a circle while you are doing it.” He frowned. She continued. “While,” she said, “You repeat: Sarah is amazing. Sarah is a winner.”  
She grinned. Triumphant.

She never got to tribulate over her glory. Her eyes dimmed and she fell back on the cushion. He had be-spelled her, her vision dark and her hearing gone. It only lasted a moment, but she knew he had completed his task. Without her ever being the wiser. She fumed as she snapped out of the spell, cursing and spewing at him.

“Sarah-dear.” He eased up to her, sweet seduction. “You simply asked that I comply. You never said you had to witness anything.”

“No cheating.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He eyed her, watchful of her mood. “Do you wish to continue?”

“Oh yes. I can’t stop now.”

He grinned, pleased. “Very well, my turn. What is your greatest dream?” he said.

She mocked him. “I thought you would know.”

“I would never presume.” He said this silkily.

She bit her lower lip, contemplative. “Well, I always wanted to be a writer.” 

“Why haven’t you?” He leaned back, watching her.

“I was hardly in the position to do so.” Oshall.

“Then you should begin now. Right away.” He made it sound like a decree.

“Now?”

“I will have a desk set up for you in here.” His library. She paled. 

He frowned at her reaction. “You are not pleased?”

“Yes, I am, but--”

“Then it shall be done.”

She stammered. “I don’t know if I can do it.” Fear lit at her. It was like she was back in the institution, all imagination condemned.

His voice and face softened as he looked at her. “Of course you can, Sarah. You can do anything.”

She smiled, weak. “I used to think so.”

“I believe it,” he said. The air was thick with her emotion. He paused, contemplating her. “Enough. A break.”

She sucked up her tears, the ones she wouldn’t let fall in front of the king. She surreptitiously wiped at her eyes. 

“Yes, I would like to stop for a while.” Her voice was small.

He still observed her. Then he thrust his hand out, where a neighboring door opened into a waiting room. “Time to relax and refresh yourself. You will find everything you require, I hope.”

“I’m not staying.” She felt fear, and it came from her lower belly. Churning anticipation.

“Come, come, Sarah.” He petitioned so softly, she hardly heard him. “Take this moment to enjoy your respite. You are tired. We will dine later.”

“I can’t stay,” she repeated.

He glowered. “Of course you can. And you will.”

It was an order from his Majesty. She couldn’t refuse.

She acknowledged, rueful. “Very well.”

“Delightful. Now if you will allow me?” He held out his forearm, meaning to escort her the short distance.

She stared. Stared some more. She finally placed her palm on his forearm. 

He was every inch the gentleman as he led her to the connecting rooms. It was a threesome of intricate chambers, decorated in creams and gold. Similar to the library, but more feminine. 

He gave a slight bow, making to depart. “I will leave you. Nine o’clock, my dearest Sarah. I will return then.”

Sarah took in the rooms after he left. The bed was at the center; it was a large piece that took up one whole wall. It had a gold velvet feather comforter, white draperies that surrounded and enclosed the mattress, and fluffy white-gold trimmed pillows. 

An armoire of cream trimmed with ornate gilt trim stood in the corner, over seven feet tall in height. A matching vanity and stool were next to the large window, set in panes of stained glass. Sarah went closer to the window and looked at the artwork involved. Goblins made to look like fairytale creatures, not the beasts they were.

She opened the armoire. Dresses, of every color and style, lined the cedar wood opening. She held one up to her. It would fit. They would all fit. She slammed the door shut.

The next two rooms were a sitting parlor and a bathroom. The bathroom was also in gilt and cream, with a massive deep tub. He had bequeathed lotions, a perfume she smelled and liked, and hair brushes of carved wood. 

How very typical of the king. Gifting her with such exquisite taste, that she couldn’t give it back. A small voice inside of her weighed on how much she liked everything.

Sarah yawned. She yawned again, covering her mouth lazily. He was right. She was tired.

She had time to rest, and she intended to do so. She hadn’t realized how sleepy she had become traversing the maze in just the short amount of time she had. Fidgeting to get her gown off, she left on the short chemise that was tucked underneath. Sarah laid down on the silky comforter. She was asleep before she could count to two.


	6. Chapter 6

She couldn’t get her dress back on, nor any other dress fashioned in the wardrobe. The laces were in the back, and she squirmed and twisted to do them, to no avail.

“Can I be of assistance?” said the king from the doorway. 

He had a bemused smile on his face like he had been watching her struggle for some minutes. His face wore a childish excitement as if he couldn’t wait to visit her again. She couldn’t stay mad with a face like that.

“Not unless you are familiar with women’s clothing. I can’t. Do. This,” she said, angry at herself.

“Oh, I am familiar. Very,” he said, smoothly seductive. His moods were quicksilver.

“Why am I not surprised?” she snapped. 

“Come, Sarah. Turn and I will help you.”

He was by her side in a pace. He slid his hands down the seams of the gown, and just grazing her skin with his gloved fingers, the gown tightened around her body. 

“There,” he said. “Was that so very difficult?” For me to touch you…

His voice had lost its glimmer. At once, he was serious.

“Thank you.” He made her feel ashamed of her harshness. So cruel...

“Anytime, my Sarah.” 

He cocked his head, observing her. She stared right back at him, unsure of his motivation. 

He said, his tone uncertain, “How do you like the rooms?”

She broached it tenderly. “They are lovely.” She paused significantly. “The dresses fit.”

He nodded. “I hoped they would.” He didn’t explain. 

He stared, and looked some more. She shifted her weight on her feet, uncomfortable. 

“Is there something you wanted?” she said.

He smiled. “There are so many ways I could answer that, dear Sarah, but for now I am hoping you will join me for dinner.”

He held out his arm. She stared at it. Surely he didn’t mean for her to touch him. She hesitated. Hesitated further. 

He huffed. “Sarah, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m just not used to--”

“What? A gentleman? Come, come.” He lowered his eyebrows in mute dismay. “I would escort you.”

Taking her palm and placing it genteelly against his left forearm, he positioned her at his side. “Ready?”

Sarah took one last look in the gilt mirror that stood from floor to ceiling near the door. Light and dark. They complimented the other. He wore dark charcoal gray. She was in white, an ethereal gown that draped becomingly around her body. He nodded approval. 

“The dress is lovely on you.” 

She couldn’t refute his sincerity. She wouldn’t smile, though. 

“Thank you.” She looked away from their image, his gaze still on hers. He pushed the door open with a wave of his palm. It closed tight behind them.

They walked down the winding and dark hallway, the sconces in the wall brightening as they drew near. They walked for what seemed like forever. Finally, they came upon a room basking in the glow of warm candlelight. The dining room. The long table was laid with a plethora of food and drink. It was too much for the two of them, but there was no one else in attendance to dine.

“All of this, for us?” she asked.

“It is a trifle. Nothing more.”

She said nothing, just bit her lower lip in dismay. She had hoped the king had courtiers who would be joining them. No such luck.

“Where is everybody?” she said, looking around.

He frowned. “Everyone? There is no one else in the castle but the goblins.”

“You don’t have,” she said, pausing, “Subjects, or something?”

He laughed. “No. I am quite alone.” 

The laugh hid a certain sadness. He spoke truth. 

She reached out and stroked her hand along an intricately carved chair. There were only two settings for the long table. His and hers. Two chairs, two sets of dinnerware. Sarah didn’t say anything.

He was uncertain. “This pleases you?”

“What do you care?” She retorted sharper than she intended. She softened her face in shame.

“I care, very much,” he answered. He guided her to the seat on the right of the head setting. A place of honor.

He pulled out the chair for her to sit, tucking it back in when she lowered herself to the padded seat. She coughed, feeling self-conscious. He smiled at her, brushing the feeling away.

She resumed her self-consciousness when she realized she had to eat with him observing her. She said, after a few nibbles, “Aren’t you eating?”

“I’m enjoying the company.”

“But aren’t you hungry?” she said, her voice soft at his genuine reply.

“Perhaps later. For now, dine and relax.”

She was hungry. But she refused to take more than what was on her plate, although she finished the sampling of cheeses and bread soon after. He served her himself. He heaped meat, fruit and more cheese on her plate until it brimmed. 

“That’s fine, more than enough. Thank you.”

He smiled, a contented small grin. “Eat until you are full, my dear.”

She held her stomach, finally. Satiated. He beamed. If feeding her made him happy, she was more than glad to comply.

“You didn’t seem like you liked your rooms.” He said this gently, non-argumentative. Hurt.

It was the first he had spoken in many minutes. She hesitated. 

“They are pretty rooms,” she said, wary. “Who were they for?”

“The Queen.” He watched her from the corner of his eye.

“Oh.” She bowed her head. 

“I hope you like them.”

She straightened her chin. “I guess it doesn’t matter whether I do or not.”

He stared at her a long moment. “Indeed.” It gave nothing away. 

Her shame mounted. When had she become so mean?

He stood. “I will trust you will enjoy them as you rest in them tonight.” He bowed his head at her. “In spite of them being her Majesty’s suite.” He grinned.

“Oh, I can’t stay.” She blurted out the response.

He smirked. “Yes, so you have said. But we are not finished our little game.”

“I thought--”

“I said, my dear when I grew bored. You have hardly gotten me to that state as yet.”

“You--!” She cursed under her breath. She saw he heard her, his ears as sharp as the angular lines of him.

He stared at her, displeased by her outburst. She lowered her chin, chagrined.

“Boredom, Sarah dear. Do you plan on playing more until I become so?”

“I suppose,” she grumbled. 

He smiled as if she had never thrown a tantrum. “Good. I look forward to it. Now come, you will rest, and we will start fresh tomorrow.”

He held her tight and quick in his arms, and instead of walking, he transported her to her chambers. She felt the familiar dizziness and spin of the air whooshing around her. She held onto his arm as he stabilized her. He smiled down at her from his heeled height.

He opened the door with a wave. “Do you need assistance with your gown?”

“No, I’ll manage. Thank you.” She tried to rectify her previous wrong with sincerity. 

“You are welcome,” he said, his face still wearing the fond expression. He stood still a second longer than needed, watching her. “Sarah, I give you rein of my castle, all excepting my private bedchamber.” He grinned, unabashed. For now, anyway.

“You don’t need to remind me of that,” she said, tart.

He added, “And Sarah,” he said, serious. “Beware going in the lower levels by yourself. The goblins wouldn’t appreciate you there.”

She nodded, her eyes wide. He changed the subject.

He perused her. “I want you to know that you have full control over your rooms.”

“How so?”

He led her to the door. He opened it with a wave, then closed it again. “I have given you the power to lock it.” To lock me out...he insinuated. “Open to me, or keep it shut. It is your choice.”

She nodded. “Thank you, your Majesty.” Her voice breathed in a relieved sigh.

“I would never presume upon you.” He looked at her, intent. “But should you need me...”

“I’ll call,” she promised.

He smiled and slipped away, a chuckle in the air following his disappearance. Sarah stood silent, making sure he was truly gone. Then she pulled her gown up and over her head, already loosened by him for her. He hadn’t touched her, but he had anticipated her need.

She couldn’t sleep for a long while, thinking of him.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to those of you who took the time to favorite and/ or put me on your alert list. I really appreciate it!

 

In the morning, barely rested, Sarah, dressed with distinct struggle and made her way out into the hallway. The sun had been bright for several hours, and there was no sight of his Majesty.

Almost like she was being led, she walked down the double set of doors until she reached the library. She entered.

The king was sitting in a chair, reclining with a heavy book in his lap. He looked up and smiled as she made her way into the sun-drenched room.

“Ah,” he said, teasing, “The sleepyhead awakes.”

“I was more tired than I thought,” she said, excusing herself. She grumbled for she was used to a carafe of coffee in the mornings. “You’re chipper.”

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” he said, smiling. He closed the book, resting it on the table beside him. “Coffee?”

“You read my mind.” She groaned with anticipation.

“No, only that I could.” He gestured to the table beside him, laden with a mug and an assortment of fresh pastries. “Eat. Enjoy.”

She sipped the scalding liquid, just the way she liked it. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

He grinned. “The better to eat you with, my dear.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said, but without bite.

“You are the one that is always reading into my words, precious.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, not saying anything. She relished her coffee, and slowly awoke with its bitter brew.

She looked at his upside-down book, reading its spine. “Edgar Allen Poe.” She looked up at him. “I love his work. What are you reading?”

“My favorite piece. I have to admit, I’ve read it so often I’ve committed it to memory.”

“Which one?” She pulled the book to her and examined. “Alone.” She frowned. “It’s a sad poem.”

“It’s very appropriate, don’t you think?” His voice played with distraction. 

“You really are lonely, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft as she placed the book back down carefully.

“It’s just my life.” He shrugged. “I am used to it.”

“No one likes to be by themselves,” she said.

“I am not by myself right now.” He looked at her with appreciation, warmth.

“No. But for how long?”

“As long as you are willing to put up with me.” He fanned his palms out, a mesmerizing gesture.

She grunted. Not giving him false hope.

“So,” she said finally. “What do you have planned for me today? Something equally as horrific?”

He appeared bemused by her obvious change in subject. “You say you don’t enjoy our tete a tete, my dear? Surely not.”

“You’re not so bad.” She smirked the same way she had seen him do.

“I am glad to hear it.” He stood. He held out his gloved palm to her. “I thought we could transverse the gardens today.”

She noticed he closed the book back up when he passed by. She said, “You have gardens? In a Labyrinth?” Two could play ignorance.

He smiled, benign. “There is much you don’t know about my kingdom.”

“So I’m finding out.” She whispered under her breath, but he smiled, hearing her words.

As she discovered after they walked a while to their destination, the gardens were part of the maze. “You must like puzzles,” she said.

“I do,” he answered, smiling down at her. “It gives me amusement.”

“And is that what I am? Amusement?”

He frowned. “No.” He placed his hands behind his back, clasping them as though his fingers ached to touch her instead. “You are much more than that.”

They walked in silence for much of the morning, Sarah finding delight in the colorful butterflies that hovered over the bushes and flowers. It was peaceful, and she felt surprised that she was enjoying herself.

Enjoying herself, until a stray branch caught her and she tripped. She felt a jab of pain and looked down at her ankle. Just a small cut, but it was bleeding.

Jareth stopped, his hand catching her about the waist and pulling her in, as she almost fell. Her full weight went against him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Or struggle against it.

She smiled, awkward. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face. 

“Stay still. Let me look at you.”

“I’m fine, your Majesty.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, ignoring her dismissal.

He led her over to a stone, cleaned it off with his arm sleeve, and motioned for her to sit. Her ankle was hurting, and she obeyed. 

Jareth knelt, one knee locked against the ground, the other bent. With gentleness, he took her injured foot and braced it against his bent knee. He placed it carefully, stroking the skin around the wound. His touch was fire. 

“Please don’t.” She protested, and he ignored her. A king bent before her. She inhaled.

“It’s not dirty,” he said, examining her. “But you will need a bandage.” He smiled and pulled a pink, multi-colored heart band-aid from his pocket.

“What are you doing with that?” She laughed, as it was so incongruous.

“It’s for the children,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. The children. The ones he took. Her eyes flashed, and she watched as he pulled apart the sterile strips and tucked the band-aid across her wound.

With a flourish, he leaned down and kissed her over the wound. “There,” he said. “All better.”

She replied, stiff and awkward. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, dear Sarah.”

She looked at him, questioningly. “Is there some reason you couldn’t just magic it away?”

He laughed. “I could. But I tend to reserve my power even in my own kingdom.”

“Why?”

“Why do magic when I have the full capability to do things myself?” It was a plausible explanation, and she nodded.

He stretched out his hand and lifted her to her feet. They stood, each watching the other.

“So...” She trailed off.

Jareth beckoned at the path. “Come. There is more to see.”

The air smelled sweet of flower blossoms. “Is it spring here?” Sarah asked.

“It is the turn of the season. There are only two of them. Warm and freezing.” He grinned.

“I’m glad I’m here when it’s warm.”

“There is beauty in both, as with most things.”

They turned the corner, only to come upon a blanket and picnic basket. Sarah gasped, pleased.

“We will refresh ourselves,” he said.

“It seems like you are determined to do nothing but make me a glutton.”

“You are thin, Sarah.” He spoke seriously. “Perhaps I am trying to make up for what you have lost.”

She chastised and said softly. “You can never make up for the horrors I have been through.”

“No,” he answered just as quiet. “I imagine I can not.”

She ate, with more relish than even the evening before. She never thought to gain back an appetite. 

“Now...” she said, turning to him after wiping her mouth clean. “What is on the agenda for me now?”

“Now,” he said, a smile on his face, “You answer more questions.”

She rolled her eyes, playful. “You are still fixated on that game?”

“Of course, Sarah my precious. Aren’t you?”

“That is why I am here,” she answered.

“Yes.” He said soft, not looking her in the face. “That is why you are here.”

She grinned. “I start.” The king acquiesced with a gracious nod. She said, “How old are you?”

“Ancient.” He paused. “Older than you, surely.”

“You don’t know? How can that be?”

He answered. “I simply remember Being. Not when I was born.”

“Being?” she frowned. “Like with magic?”

“My power, yes.” He nodded. 

“That sounds complicated.” 

“Perhaps. But I have grown used to it.” He shrugged.

“Can you die?” she whispered. 

He smiled. “Why? Do you want me to?”

No, no! Don’t die! “It would make things easier.”

“Easier if I left you here in my kingdom without its ruler?” He gestured erratically. “I can’t imagine that would make things any more pleasant. My goblins would eat you for breakfast.”

She wasn’t sure if he were joking. “Are you serious?”

“Is that another question, Sarah dear?” 

“I didn’t know the goblins were vicious.” She frowned.

“They are beasts. Of course they are.” His gaze was serious. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“Um.” She remained noncommittal.

“I have it in my ability to keep you safe. I would do so.”

“You sound like you are going out on a limb.” She teased.

“Nonsense. I would hardly be the gracious host if I let you expire.”

“You mean I could die?” she said, frowning again. “Within the Labyrinth?”

He was short. “Yes.” The king changed the subject. “My question.” He still had an air of caution about him. “Have you ever been in love?” he said.

It startled her. She hedged. “I have been in an institution for three years. I don’t really have the time--”

“No one there? No one that caught your fancy?”

“No.” It was an honest answer, at least.

“Not before or since?” He made a mockery of his mouth, his lips twisting wryly.

“No.” She didn’t have to answer, but she did.

“You lie, Sarah, precious.” He gleamed. “Dare.”

“I don’t-”

“Come, come, my dear. You dared me.” He spread his palms in an innocent plea.

She pouted. “Fine. State your claim.”

He glowed, his skin a translucent glimmer in his glee. “My claim,” he said, musing. Making her wait...

“No tricks.”

He made a play of pondering. “Kiss me. One kiss, like you mean it.”

“I have to mean it?” she bit back.

“Only if you mean it.”

He leaned back, making her work for it. “You have to feel something.” Feel. Like she didn’t feel enough at the moment.

“Yeah. Like I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said, keeping his mouth in pardon. He sounded unsure.

She hovered. Scared. Enthralled. He smelled so good, and he was so close. She could reach out and twist her palms within his luxuriant hair and pull. And pull. Never letting go.

He whispered near her lips. “Anytime now, precious.”

“You’re distracting me.”

She leaned in, quick, and pecked him with her lips. It was chaste but true.

He laughed. “Not what I had expected, my Sarah, but it seems you have bested me on this try.”

He was partially correct. Her emotions were a jumble.

“Your turn.” He beckoned her with a graceful flick of his pale wrist.

“I don’t like this game,” she said, almost a whine.

“No?” he said, a Cheshire grin pasted on his face. “I think you hate that you are losing.”

“I didn’t know it was a game of win or lose.”

His grin grew larger. “Every game is win or lose. The question is, how well are you going to play?”

She retorted, irate. “You should know, I hate to lose. And I don’t intend to.”

“Granted.” He acknowledged and acquiesced. “But know this.” His mouth entranced, hovering near her own. “I hate to lose, too.”

She jerked back. “Question.”

“Indeed.” He smiled, content to have her off-kilter.

“My turn,” she said, blushing at his proximity. 

“Soon.” He jumped to his feet. “I have something to show you. Come, dear Sarah.”

“What? We’re quitting already?”

“Delaying,” he said. He held out his gloved hand to her. She reluctantly took it.

“Where are we--”

He had her in his arms. Her eyes squeezed shut in reflex as he transported them both. So much for magic...

She opened them, and they were somewhere outside the Labyrinth walls. “Where are we?” she said again.

He murmured. “The Dark Forest.” It was said in a sacred tone. “But we are only passing through. I wanted you to see it before--”

“Before I won and left?” She teased, but she had a serious undertone.

He frowned. “Indeed.” He held out his hand again. “Come.”

She spent the next hour or so tripping over her own feet, the branches the forest floor was laden with, stumbling her at every turn. “I thought we were just passing through,” she said, complaining.

He always grabbed a hold of her before she fell. Too often, it seemed.

“We are.” He looked down at her, smiling. “We are close.”

“Close? It feels like I have walked forever.” She had reverted to a whiny child.

“You? A Labyrinth runner?” he said, grinning. “Nonsense.” He stopped. “There.” 

“What?” Sarah looked, saw nothing.

“There,” he pointed in the northern direction. “Keep quiet. You’ll scare her.”

“Oh...” Sarah saw. Disbelieving. A unicorn.

She whispered. “I thought you had to be a virgin to see one of those.”

He smirked. “Aren’t you?”

She retorted, under her breath. “Technically.”

“Enough, it seems.” He brushed off her concern. “We must step no closer. This is her domain, and her magic is very powerful.”

She grinned, teasing. “More so than your Majesty’s?”

He didn’t smile. “Much more so.”

“She’s beautiful.”

He smiled, pleased. “There is so much more about my kingdom to show you if you wish.”

She started. “I’m not sure I will have the time for such things.”

“Time,” he said, quiet. “Yes, there is that.”

Sarah whispered. “Maybe we should go back.” Before I forget why I am really here.

He lingered near her. “If that is your desire.”

They didn’t walk out. The king took her into his arms and then they were back in the castle, in his dark-paneled library.

She had the impression he was disappointed with her. She struggled to understand why she cared. 

“If you want, we can continue the game,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “I think it would be best if you went to your rooms and rested for this evening’s dinner.” His voice was tired. Disappointed.

She didn’t want to rest, but in the very moment, he had placed her in her quarters. Her frustration mounted. What did he want with her?


	8. Chapter 8

She didn’t go down to dinner. It may have been a pithy refusal on her part, but Sarah knew she had to draw the line somewhere. His Majesty didn’t let her go hungry. An hour after she didn’t show up, a plate of food appeared in her room, along with a handwritten letter.

You seem to be tired from the day’s activities. Please join me at your earliest convenience in the morning. The library. 

It wasn’t signed, but who else would write her? She tossed the letter to her bed. Such arrogance, such mastery. She hated it. 

She sighed. What had she expected? She was dealing with a king.

She struggled into a gown the next morning. The stays were slightly loose, but the dress stayed on. It was the best she could do.

With hesitancy, she tiptoed the distance to his library. She didn’t know what kind of mood the king would be in, not after she had ignored his summons the night before.

He wasn’t mad. He just wasn’t there. 

She waited. And waited. Sarah meandered through the rows of shelves, looking absentmindedly at the old books. She would take one out, look at it with semi-interest, then plop it back into its place. 

Finally, when several hours had passed and the king still hadn’t joined her, she found a book she decided to read. It was a history of humankind. The pages were so old that she felt she was turning onionskin. 

The sun made its slow move across the orange sky, the light fading. She was still alone, but finally absorbed in the story, and she had forgotten to wonder where his Majesty was.

“You must be hungry.” 

He stood against the massive fireplace, looking weary and pale. The room had a chill, and the fire hadn’t been lit. The dark cavity of the stone seemed to suck him in.

She attempted a smile. “I could eat.”

“I’ll have something for you momentarily. Please, just give me a few minutes to rest.”

“What happened?” she said, concern touching her voice. “You look--”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Yes, well, the day has been trying.”

She bit her lip. “You can talk about it if you want.”

His eyes startled. “You want to hear about my day?”

She laid down her book. “Yes. If you want.”

He sighed. “I wouldn’t bother you.”

She tried to be chipper. “Well, as my good friend Eddie would say: nothing is better than sharing misery.”

“Did he now?” The tone was wry. He stalked away from the wall, pacing gracefully toward her.

She nodded. He slid near her, his tone tinged with bitterness.

“It is my burden to bear.” Then he was silent.

“Burden?” she asked.

He spread his palms wide. “I am the Keeper of Dreams, after all.” He hesitated. “And Nightmares.”

She watched him carefully. “Is that what happened? Nightmares?”

“Oh, so many.” His voice was still weak, defenseless.

“Can’t you just,” she said, pausing, “Block them?”

He sneered. “Oh, my precious thing. If only I could.”

She patted the chaise next to her. “Tell me. I am told I am a good listener.”

“Sarah,” he said, resigned as he tenderly sat on the edge. Bracing himself against the fabric and against her innocent words. “You wouldn’t be able to handle what I say.”

“Try me.” Her voice was soft. Imploring.

He hesitated. Waited. Whispered, remembering. He spoke, soft.

“Screams. So many screams. It wouldn’t go away.” His voice cracked.

“Something happened Above.” She made it a statement.

“Yes.”

“Is my,” she paused, “World, okay?”

“It is as it always has been. I just have to bear this as I always do.”

She reached out and touched his hand. He clasped onto her fingers, his savior. 

“I am more than willing to listen. Whenever you need me to,” she said. 

He nodded, his throat tight. His eyes were haunted, but warm when they finally looked at her. “I am glad of it.” He swallowed. “Sometimes it is difficult.”

“On your own.” She finished, understanding how good it would be to have someone to confide in. She had Eddie in Oshall, but the king—he had no one.

He changed the subject, ignoring his torn last words. “Sarah, eat with me this evening.”

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—refuse him. With a pain, she recalled how she had ignored him the last night. How he had needed her, without saying so many words. The guilt rode high upon her.

“Yes,” she answered. 

“Something light?” He was still thinking of his day. 

“That’s fine.”

“Shall we?” A small smile touched his face, for the first moments since he entered the room. She accepted his arm, and they went into the dining room.

He picked at the food on his plate. She still hadn’t seen him eat a full meal, while she devoured whatever was placed in front of her. His mood was quiet and reserved, and no matter how she tried idle chitchat, he barely spoke.

Later on, he took them back to his library. “Play a game with me?” he said. His voice was breaking from its hollowness. Plied with hope.

“The same one?” 

“I was thinking...chess. Do you play?”

“I’m not very good.” She shrugged.

“I’ll teach you. If you like.”

His eyes were watchful on her. Icy blue and dark dilation, perusing her.

She nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

He took black, leaving the white markers for her. The chessmen were intricately carved stone, semi-precious gems embedded within. She had never seen a more beautiful set.

The fact that it was lovely didn’t make her a better player. She frustrated quickly when she saw the king wouldn’t give her slack. As they played, his mood lifted. 

“I thought you said you were going to teach me,” she said, exasperated. At least she was good for distraction.

“I am.” He eyed her with aplomb. “I didn’t say I would make it easy for you. What would be the fun in that?”

“Fun, fun.” She snapped her words, irritated but more so, annoyed with her lack of expertise. “Is that all you ever think about?”

“Not all.” He smirked. He had recovered, fully, it seemed.

“You’re sick, you know that? Sick.” She moved another piece. He took it.

“I think you are quite enjoying the way I am, Sarah-mine.”

She grunted and looked to move another chess player. He eyed her, made a mocking sound deep in his throat, and guided her hand to the piece he wanted her to move.

Her hand felt like lightning had touched it. He pulled back, sharp. It was the same as when he had his arm around her to transport her. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to move. Like electricity had consumed her.

She assumed a bored pose. “You aren’t just making me move that piece because you want to win?”

“Of course you think the worst of me,” he said. 

“Shouldn’t I?”

He lifted an arched brow. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” She teased with the repeating word, accepting his remark as truth. “Question,” she said, playful, “If you were to guess an age, how old would you be, do you think?”

“Must you truly know my age?” 

“What? Is it a sore point?”

He frowned. “I am a bit older than you, that’s all.”

“I realize that.” She smiled. “Do you remember when you,” she paused and considered her words. “Became?”

“Things were very different when I Became, my dearest. Your world wasn’t like it is now.”

Her clumsy fingers tipped a chessman. His truth pained. He was older than the world she recognized, and she knew it.

He righted it, his fingers brushing against hers. Electric pulse drove through. This time he didn’t pull away as fast.

“I have another question for you,” she said.

He smiled. “Truth?”

“Of course.” She glared at him for distracting her move again. “How long do you think you can maneuver time to keep me here? I know what you’ve been doing.”

He startled. “How did you--”

“I know because I know how tricky you can be. Do you deny it?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “No. I don’t deny it. But admit it, dear Sarah, you are having fun.”

“I have enjoyed myself,” she said, cautious. “But I have a mission.”

“The Labyrinth,” he said, toneless. 

“That is why I came. We made a bargain.”

He eyed her under sneaky lashes. “I haven’t broken our bargain. I am simply expanding the terms.”

She puckered her mouth, dismayed. “You can’t just change terms on a whim. I should know what you are doing first.”

“I am telling you. I wish you to keep me company.” He peered at her with innocent eyes. “I haven’t lied.”

“No.” She looked down at her clasped hands. 

“Sarah, you have no idea how it is for me. Your company has lightened my days.”

“That’s very kind to say--”

“I am not kind.” He spit out the words. “I am being truthful.”

“Regardless, you can’t keep me here just because you need company.” Her voice was soft, pitying.

“Why not?” His voice was harsh.

“Because--”

“I want you to be here. So you are here.”

His imperiousness angered her. She glowered at him.

“You can’t just keep me!”

He glimmered with anger at her outburst. Now she saw it, the darker side of him. He could be frightening. But she felt more than fear from his emotions. She felt want. And need. He needed her.

“I have to leave.” She started picking up their chess pieces, distracting herself from the instant hurt she felt by her own words.

He softened. “Stay.” His eyes begged. “Just until you have rested, at least.”

She nodded, at turns wanting to stay. Wanting to go. “I will stay another night if that is what you want.”

His mouth loosened into a smile. “Thank you, Sarah.”

 

A/N: I have never knowingly taken anyone’s ideas. If you see similarities between my story and someone else’s, know that it was completely unintentional.


	9. Chapter 9

She couldn’t leave him. He made her feel such pity. To be alone, all of the time, had to be abject and lonely. No wonder the king played the barbarian when he had company.

The next day, he played off his surprise when she didn’t ask to go home. Instead, she said, “Can I see the gardens again?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything.”

Anything. An existence such as his was no existence at all. But she had to refuse him; she had to go home. They were quiet as they walked. Every once in a while his gaze darted to her face. He kept a smile in check.

He was so happy. She made him happy. 

She had to leave. But home, where was it? Not with Karen. Not in Oshall. Wherever would she be if not with him, Underground?

“Sarah,” he said, stopping and halting their walk. “Sarah, I would like for you to do something for me. Something very important.”

The wary set in. “What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I think you will object to.”

She bit her lower lip. Her eyes darted over his uncomfortable face. 

He placed his hands behind his back in a clasp. He folded and unfolded his grasp, looking at her. 

“I have a name, Sarah.” 

She knew, but couldn’t let on. He didn’t know Hoggle had told her, the last time she was Underground. He didn’t even know that was her. Her mutant pride kept her from revealing it; pushing and pushing and pushing him away. It was what she did best.

He stopped his pacing. “My name is Jareth, and I would like to hear you use it.”

She smiled. “That’s all?”

“It is no small thing. My name holds great power.”

She had suspected as much. She nodded.

“Jareth.” It was a small voice, one that almost tripped up over the intimacy.

He closed his eyes, a delighted sereneness coming over his face. He opened his eyes and looked at her. His gaze sucked her in, devoured her.

“Thank you.”

He took her elbow again. The fire that moved between them flared. 

She teased, trying to lift the heavy mood. “Have we just gone into a new uncharted territory?”

He smiled, lifting his gloved palm and almost grazing her forehead with it. He reached for a lock of her hair and moved it aside, instead. 

“I think we have.” Then, softer, “I think we have.”

*****

He had to have her. He had waited so long for her. He felt the betrayal, the rejection from the last maze runner. The Sarah that eluded him.

Poor girl. Believing he was the villain. And after all he had already done for her. He chuckled. In fact, he was no hero, but he would give her all that he was and had. He would do anything. For her, and to win. It was like a game, this challenge. He loved games, strategy. He was so very good at them.

But Sarah might be better.

He touched his hand over his heart. Damn it—it yearned. It pleaded with him, like a live thing. The king ignored its plaintive wail. Come, come to me, it begged. He felt like yelling at the damned thing to halt. To release him from its steely grip. There was so much more involved than just winning. He had to be...Remembered.

The Alone. He paid for it dearly every waking moment of his eternal days. And such a long, long life he had to endure. Time without end.

He didn’t know how he came to be. One moment he wasn’t. Then he knew Breath, Time. Millennia ago, but he was aware of each and every second of it. He waved his palm lazily in the air as his crystals surrendered to his touch. He watched his need materialize inside them.

His dreams. Forsaken for others.

Oh, Sarah. He soothed her name. He had given all to her and she had rejected him soundly time and again, making him less than. The king debated whether the woman she was would allow him to regain himself. Then he decided it didn’t matter. He wanted her, regardless.

He planned on rectifying her near indifference. She would be his, accept him, love him. Let him rule over her. He grinned, his sharp canine teeth gleaming bright.

*****

That night she dreamed. 

She was in Oshall, dark and dreary with no one to help her escape. Running, running, unable to make her legs move fast enough. The hallways were painted as black as pitch, and she feared what she might find in the dark.

Goblins. 

Sharp-toothed and hungry, they trailed after her. Stalking. Beastly.

She heard their rapacious chattering. Want. Need. Must have. Take. Mine, mine, mine.

Every turn she made, every hallway, they followed her. Her legs were tired; her breath came in staggered desperation.

Stop! Please don’t…

They came closer. Closer, enough to reach her. To gobble her whole. She felt the tears as they slid down her cheeks. Run away. Don’t let the monsters catch you...

She choked back sobs. It was so real. So very real.

She felt a warmth on her back. That felt real, too.

She heard the comforting soothe as it came from near her ear. Precious...I have you. Sleep, sleep. Please don’t cry...

She did sleep then, warm and comfortable in her cloud of silken sheets and velvet comforter. Her dream settled into unconscious nothingness.

Hot, so very hot. She felt the slight breath on her ear, the hard form at her back, as she woke. She wasn’t alone. She attempted to remove herself, but the arm around her waist tightened. He pulled her in closer, tighter.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still half-asleep.

“Umm...” He didn’t respond, just gave a low, guttural groan. With each word, his grip tightened.

“Jareth,” she said, calling to him. Poking him with a warning in his stomach. He grunted but didn’t wake. 

She poked him, harder. “Jareth!”

He mumbled. “Yes, my love?”

“You’re in my bed.”

She felt his grin as he lay behind her. “So I am.”

“Well?” She poked him, this time thrusting her finger into his chest. He grunted, pained. “Do something about it.”

“I will if you insist.” His smile was evident. Smirking, more like.

She rolled over, fully facing him. Her hair was tangled and she had morning breath, but he was in the same predicament. She felt oddly comfortable. So comfortable she had to ruin the moment.

He still had his arm around her. She had to move, or lose herself. She would forfeit, and it wouldn’t be just a game.

“Off!”

She pushed him away. This time she meant it.

“Dear Sarah, you could have done that the first time.” He whispered in her ear. “Can I assume you liked it?”

Her voice caught in her throat. “Of course not. Why would I--”

He almost touched her ear with his lips. “Because, my darling, your heart is all a patter, your eyes have dilated, and your mouth is quivering at me.”

“No.” She backed up, far away from the other side of the massive bed.

“I wouldn’t lie.”

He rolled over to his back, crossing his arms behind his head. Relaxed, in her bed.

She tried to assume control. “Well, yes, but it doesn’t excuse the fact you are still in my bed.”

He grew serious immediately. “Sarah, you had a nightmare. I hated hearing you cry.”

She remembered now. The goblins, and Oshall.

“You heard me?” she said.

“Heard. Saw.” He shrugged. “I did what I could.”

She whispered. “What exactly did you do?” She hated the thought of him being in her nightmare, but she couldn’t change what he was. Keeper of Dreams.

He looked bashful. He wouldn’t look at her. “I changed it.”

“You can do that?”

He nodded. “With you, it seems.”

“Jareth...” She warned of his impetuousness with her.

“I had to,” he said, gazing her deeply in the eye. “Sarah, I had to.” He finished softly.

She had nothing to answer to that. She reached out, drawing close again, and laid her hand on his bicep. He stared at her wide-eyed. Haunted.

“Thank you.”

“For you, Sarah, anything.”

She almost didn’t hear him. She pretended she hadn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

  


He was gone before she could blink. He sensed her discomfort, for she hadn’t said anything to him after that. Too embarrassed to leave the bed in only the see-through chemise, even though she had to go to the bathroom, she laid there with her back to him.

He was there, and then he...wasn’t. She sighed deeply. He confused her, and she didn’t like being unsure.

He was supposed to be her enemy, or at the very least, her opponent. Instead, she had started having feelings for him. That was unacceptable.

She didn’t know what to do. It seemed the pattern of her life. Just when she thought she was handling everything, something whipped up and snatched her off her feet.

She had been so confident after winning the Labyrinth. Nothing was insurmountable. She faced her stepmother with pride, courage. That courage failed her as soon as she was admitted to Oshall. It failed her now.

She should have been content with her happiness. She hadn’t felt so alive—ever. Jareth made no attempt to hide how he enjoyed having her with him. She didn’t know if it was her pride, or perhaps the fear of losing what she cared for, once again, that kept her aloof. To be broken once left scars that were more than just physical. She wouldn’t be able to handle another tear in her heart.

She grabbed a dress from the wardrobe, examined it. Beautiful, ornate. It was like playing dress-up every day, and now she saw why the king made himself so glamorous. There was very little to do except negotiate what to wear.

It could have been boring, but it was just the opposite. After years of being told what to do and what to wear, Sarah enjoyed choosing. Every garment reflected her womanly desires: to be lovely, to look feminine, to be wanted.

But--it was still near impossible to dress without assistance. Did every dress have to lace so tight in the back? She frowned. If not for the intricate boning within, it would have fallen off her. Maybe that’s what Jareth wanted.

She snapped at herself. When had she become so competent at saying his name? He pleads and she cracks. She harrumphed. Well, he had another thing coming if he thought she would give up or give in now. If he wanted to play games with her, she had years of learning to connive and bend whim. Everyone learned how to manipulate in Oshall. Make or break, and she refused to let herself shatter once more.

Pep talk in hand, she left the beautiful en-suite and made her way to the library, where she met him each morning. She would ignore that this particular morning he woke up on the other side of her bed.

Ready to burst into the room and tell his Majesty off, she threw the heavy door open and stalked inside. She stopped short, cold.

Jareth was leaning over the end of a chair, limp and pale. She ran forward, ignoring the panic she felt. It was too precious a feeling to let escape.

“What’s wrong?”

He gritted his teeth, his face drawn as his eyes met hers. Such pain.

“It. Hurts.” He fell onto the floor with a weak grace.

“Tell me, tell me, what can I do?” she begged. She stumbled closer, drawing next to him. He stared up at her from the floor, his eyes glazed and weak.

He shook his head, silent. “Tell me,” she repeated.

With her palm, she reached out and caressed his hair back from his brow. He was sweaty, clammy.

“Sarah, don’t.”

She ignored him. She touched him as a mother to her child, though Jareth was no child. Her touch seemed to soothe him. She felt the strange electricity as it passed between them.

Though he hadn’t been able to string two words together previous, her stroking his brow made him smile. Wan, but sincere.

“That feels.” He struggled to talk, but he still had a grin on his face. “Nice.” He exhaled deeply.

“You have to let me help you.”

“I don’t--”

“You need help.” She stated this with firmness. Sarah ran her fingers over his brow, smoothing back his slick hair. Over his brow, over his face, down his jaw. She touched, she touched, she touched. He felt so _good._

Color started coming back to his face, and his eyes returned their sparkle. Still, she didn’t move her hand. They lay next to each other, jumbled limbs, for over an hour. Her touch, his acceptance, flaring and soaring. Sarah didn’t want to let go.

He grew a mischievous look as his full strength returned. “I knew you couldn’t wait to touch me,” he said.

She snapped back, leaving his skin bereft. “What happened, Jareth?”

He shrugged, hiding his disappointment at her zeal of removing herself. “Delayed reaction.”

“Explain.”

He did, in spite of the fact she had just commanded a king. “I took your dream. It was not mine to have.”

She spoke without thought, still afraid for him. “I’d give you all my dreams,” she exclaimed. “If you just don’t scare me again.”

He did smirk, then. “I would be honored, Sarah-mine.”

She leaned back, realizing what she had said. “I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, but you did. I couldn’t do anything without your granting me truthful permission. Thank you.” He bowed his head at her as if she had just granted him a token of her affections. Perhaps she had.

She crossed her arms, ignoring the fluttered tingle in her belly as he gazed at her. “You are a lout.” It was protection; it was safety.

“Indeed,” he said, “But you nursed me, anyway.”

“Couldn’t you have just magicked your hurt away?” She fluttered her hands in ineffectual question. “You know, like _poof?”_

“Magic away?” He laughed, deep and throaty. “If only I could. This whole conundrum might have been avoided.”

She stood. “Well, you’re better now.” She brushed her skirts down; the pull on her skin throbbed. She was fire; she knew pain, and it stemmed from her refusal.

He tsked his tongue. “So cold, Sarah-mine. You would think you didn’t like me.”

There was an underlying note of despair in his tone. She had power over him, and she wasn’t sure it was just a random thing.

She stammered. “I like you.”

“Do you?” He sat up, one leg crooked on the floor. He rested one elbow on the floor, the other rested over his lap, left open in display.

“Yes,” she answered decisively, avoiding the show. “You just annoy me sometimes.”

He laughed again. “Ah, Sarah, but aren’t many good relationships built on that?”

She shrugged. “If it works for you.”

“What works,” he said, alluding, “Is up to you to find out.”

She chuckled at his double entendre. “You, dear sir, are wicked.”

He smiled and rolled up to his feet. He didn’t disagree.

“I appreciate your tender loving care, my dear. But you must be hungry.” He eyed her with amusement, for she had proven she had quite the appetite. “Now, breakfast is in order, I presume?” he said.

She nodded. He held out his arm, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Sarah didn’t bring up leaving that morning.

* * *

 

Several days passed and she didn’t see the king in the library in the mornings. Dinner was a quiet affair, and he made the practice of watching her eat but not imbibing himself.

“Don’t you ever eat?” she asked.

“Not very often,” he said, smiling.

“So you’ve lost it, hunger?”

Another bite went into her mouth. He stared at her as if a different kind of hunger had riveted him, carnal, lusty, a perfect play. He swallowed and gazed away, tapping his long fingers against the table.

He examined the question, eyes darting to her, to her mouth, back to her eyes. “Yes, to a degree. Among other things, I don’t need as much to sustain me anymore.”

“So what do you do, when I’m not here to be your entertainment?”

She had meant the question to be facetious, but he pondered her seriously. His face darkened, not in anger, but in sorrow.

He whispered, “I exist, but I don’t live.”

She could barely get her words out, her voice tinged with tears. “Must be horrible, being alone.” She knew, she knew, she _knew_. Destruction pulled at her, merciless, a cold reminder.

He attempted a smile. Weak. “I’m not alone now.”

The tears came, tucking down her smooth cheeks in soft wallow. “No,” she said. Less with pity and more with shared knowledge.

He reached out a gloved hand to her. “Sarah, please. Don’t cry.” His touch hovered near, never fulfilling. “I can’t bear to see you sad.”

She sniffled. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He grunted. “I...” He didn’t finish, or couldn’t.

She scooted back her plate, restless. Unnerved.

She interjected as he paused. “I can’t stay, Jareth. I must go home.”

His voice was laden with hurt. “I know.” He eyed her face, memorizing her image. “I know.” The last words were a mere whisper.

Her tears let up enough for her to say, “I don’t know what to do.” It was a wail.

He brushed her hair back from her temple, touching her as she moaned. “Stay. Sarah, stay with me. Don’t leave.”

_Love me, fear me, do as I say, and I will be your slave…_

She stood up, knocking the chair back in her haste. “I have to go to my room.”

He made to escort her. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I need some.” She swallowed. “Space.”

He nodded acquiescence. His face looked at once hurt, pained and full of sorrow. She had done that to him, and he had been nothing but _generous_ with her. She picked up her skirts and ran from the room.

* * *

 

_Sa-rah._

_Love, my love. Sarah…_

She heard him call to her, and she moaned deep into her sleep. She wasn’t sure if she dreamed dreams or saw nightmares, but he was there. Beckoning.

She didn’t know how he came to be among her unless she wished him. He faded into sight, glimmer and awe consuming him. He reached out a gloved hand to her.

 _Sa-rah._ His eyes feasted on her, and she felt the familiar chill of desire, running like rivulets down her bare arms.

“What are you doing here?” she said. Her voice came in shadow, misty and uncertain.

“I came for you.”

“Did I call you?”

He smiled, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You always call to me.”

It wasn’t what she asked, but she was content with the answer. He was there, as she had always wanted.

“Are you real?”

His need radiated from him in delicious wealth. He grinned, cocking his head. He examined her, patient.

“I am as real as you want me to be.”

“I need you to be here. Really here,” she said. She blushed as his hand stroked down her arm.

“Sarah, precious thing. Don’t you know I will always be there?”

Not if she kept pushing him away. Her teeth hurt from the pressure she put on her jaw. Refusing to allow him his glory. As much as she wanted him, she held back. If only he were truly real, there, and not just in her dreams. Then she wouldn’t have to pretend.

His smile festered upon her. “I can be wherever you want me to be, Sarah-mine.”

Real…

She imagined she could do anything, be anyone. She wanted him, and she wanted more than just a glorious touch.

“Come near,” she said.

“As you wish, my love.” Surprised but happy.

“You have your way, even in my dreams,” she said. Amused.

He stared at her, incredulous. “I never said it was a dream.”

She started. “It has to be. I would never--”

“Beckon me any other way?” He looked sad, then. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said for the second time in short order. “How do I handle...this?” _Him._

He soothed. “I will do as you desire, Sarah, my love. Anything.”

“You say that,” she said, tight. “But I can’t just believe everything you tell me.”

He dropped suddenly to one knee in front of her. Bowing and lowering his head in a deferential plea.

“Please,” she said. “Get up. Don’t bow to me.”

He reached out his arms and pulled her body near. He rested, tenderly, his platinum-haired head against her stomach. Her womb. He kissed her lightly there, where her chemise rode against her skin. Where her tattoo lingered...

“Don’t you know you rule me, my love,” he said, his eyes beckoning her in. “I will do anything for you.”

“You say that--”

He tightened his arms, looking up at her. “I would do anything!” It was a hot hiss.

_Anything. Anything…_

She felt his head rubbing against her. Warm. So warm.

Sarah didn’t want to wake. The dream revealed so much, and she didn’t want to leave its comfort. But her eyes drifted open.

She wasn’t alone.

She sucked in a deep breath. The king, Jareth. He was in her bed again, fast asleep, his eyes darting under his closed eyelids.

Dreaming. Her dream.

He opened his eyes, wonder and hurt in his gaze. “Sarah--”

“You are in my bed again.”

He nodded, sheepish. “I heard you call me. I came,” he said, weakly.

She slid back against the draped headboard. “You don’t have to come whenever you hear me calling. I didn’t mean--”

“I will always come. No matter where you are.” Ferocious.

“You shouldn’t,” she protested. “I know what we are--”

He grunted. “You mean...enemies?” He scoffed. “Sarah, if I were truly your enemy, your combatant, would I be so very generous?”

“I know you are that, but--”

He whispered. “Give in to me. Give in to me, Sarah.”

_Let me rule you…_

She said familiar words. “I can’t. Don’t you see I can’t?”

He touched his heart like a steel-tipped arrow had wounded him. “I ask for so little...”

“You ask for more than I can give.”

He nodded, his jaw tight, quiet a long moment. She bit her lip, not wanting to say anything more hurtful.

“I will see you at breakfast, then.”

“Yes.” Her throat felt tight. Sore with her betrayal.

He disappeared. All that was left behind was the glimmer in the air where he had been.


	11. Chapter 11

  


She couldn’t leave. Not now, not when they were barely speaking.

The king was gracious, polite, but his jaw remained clenched. Sore and bitter.

She poked and pushed at her food that evening, and he avoided her gaze. She wanted to say everything would be alright, but she didn’t know how to comfort Jareth when she wasn’t even staying long in his kingdom.

She dreamed that night again, and she half expected to wake next to his warm body. But he wasn’t there.

Sarah dressed the next day, pulling the first outfit that reached her hands. She still had trouble with the laces, plowing away at the back until the bindings were crooked and tangled.

It was late afternoon when she reached his library. She popped her head in, and then quietly slid in the door, testing him for his attitude.

He didn’t seem to notice her, as he was absorbed in a large book. He had on thick black-rimmed glasses, and she let out an inelegant snort. He ripped them off and shoved them under a book on the side table.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Sarah,” he said, chagrined.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “You look very studious.”

“I look like a fool.”

“God forbid that happens,” she said. This time she did laugh.

He smiled. “It’s good to hear you happy.” His voice held relief.

“Jareth,” she said, made to apologize.

He beat her to it. “Sarah...I’m sorry.” He reached out a gloved palm to her, beckoning her in.

She went to stand behind him, and she stared down at his hair for a moment, not speaking. She reached out, finally, to the side table and retrieved his glasses. Fiddling them with her fingers.

“You should wear these more often. You look good in them.”

He muttered. “Old...”

She smiled. “What was that? You’re acknowledging your ancient age?”

He looked up at her. “I am glad you find amusement.”

“I have found no amusement in the last couple of days. Where have you been?”

He didn’t answer right away, but she had pleased him with her question. He patted her on her hip, resting beside him. An intimate caress, one made for long time lovers.

She found herself sinking into his touch. The fire electrocuted between them, and for a moment, there was a pause in their silent feud.

“I have something for you, Sarah. A gift.”

He stood, towering a couple of inches over her in his heeled boots. He had a bashful hope written on his face. Going over to his desk, he selected one of the top drawers and opened it. He removed something, holding it as a prize in his palms.

He carried it over to where she stood, waiting and watching every movement. He let the object drop into sight, still clutching it tightly in his fingers. A necklace, chained with gold and with a teardrop pendant stone as long as her thumb.

“It’s for you,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, in awe. “What is it?”

“A black opal. Rare, even in my world.”

She reached out to touch it. She smiled. Nothing so lovely had ever been given to her.

“May I put it on you?” he said.

She nodded. He came behind her, lifted and brushed aside her long hair, and caressed her neck with his fingers. The necklace slid over her skin with latent warmth.

“It feels...” she said. Pausing, trying to grasp the warmth and surge the necklace placed to her skin.

“It has power. Look into it at any time, call my name, and you will see me. I will come to you as you call.”

“Thank you, Jareth,” she said. She leaned up to kiss him softly on his alabaster smooth cheek. He glowed with her touch, smiling.

“If I thought I would gain a kiss from your lovely mouth, just by giving you jewelry, I would have done it a long time ago.”

She grinned. “Such a tease.”

He took her hand in his gloved palm, squeezing gently. “Never,” he said. “I am honest with you in all things.”

She bowed her head and swallowed. “Then I must be honest with you, also.”

He studied her face, nodding. She said, “I missed you this morning. I thought you might be there, after my dream...”

He kissed the fingers that he held within his. Ferocious and greedy.

“I would have been there,” he vowed. “I just thought--”

“I was angry,” she said, admitting her flaw. “But I missed you more than I realized.”

“I will never stay away when you need me, again.” His eyes burned with black fire.

She took a deep breath. No going back.

“In that case,” she said, whispering, imploring with the leftovers of sanity. “I need you.”

He moved to her side so swiftly it was like he flew. Jareth opened his lips to say something to her, then a frown covered his face.

“What is it? Is it me?”

She had humbled herself, let herself be free. She risked everything, and his face scared her for its intensity.

“No,” he said, quiet. “It’s a summons.”

He left her without another word, his mood foul. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even want to know.

_You have thirteen hours in which to solve my Labyrinth, or your baby brother becomes one of us. Forever…_

She groaned. How could she have forgotten? He was the Labyrinth’s Keeper. He took children and then they turned into horrible goblins. She was just a strange little human with nothing to offer a king.

* * *

 

She waited for him in the library. When the king walked in, she wished she had not.

He was in a worse mood than before, not that he didn’t have a good reason. Sarah took a precautionary step backward.

He scoffed, his face a mask. “You are afraid.” He stepped towards her, predatory. “You should be. I am a monster.”

“Jareth--”

He roared. “You should be afraid!”

She was. She was also sympathetic. Braving his wrath, she went up to him, facing him in his intrusive misery.

Sarah leaned in with her fingers, lightly stroking his tense jawline. He cringed. She held her hand there, soothing, not leaving him.

He spit out harsh words. “Do you know what I am? A taker of innocent children. I turn them into beasts.” He stared at her. “Beasts, Sarah!”

She murmured. “You have no choice.”

He lowered his voice. “Could you ever love a man such as me?” It cracked. Pleading for her mercy.

She couldn’t answer. It meant her freedom. She took back what she had almost willingly given earlier that day.

“No,” he spat again, reaching up and removing her hand. Not as gentle as she would have expected. “Of course not,” he said. “I am everything you expected me to be.”

“You aren’t!” she burst out. He stared down at her, his face cold and removed.

“Jareth, you aren’t. In the time I have been here,” she said, leaning in to rest her head on his heaving chest, “I have seen you are a _good_ man.”

“I am not good.”

He breathed in raggedly at her words, wanting to believe. With a careful gesture, he stroked her hair, falling down her back. Temple to waist, he stroked. His touch was gentle, though his words had been harsh.

She leaned back and looked up at him. “You are,” she insisted. “I was wrong to have misjudged you.”

He stepped back and away from her, his breath short as if caught inside him. “I am not worthy of you.”

“I am the woman who complains and whines and never wins at a single one of your games.” She was wry. “Who is better than who?”

He threw back his head and laughed. She sighed, relieved by his action.

“Oh, Sarah. How you delight me.”

She felt his love, evident in his voice. He had never said it to her outright, but she knew. She anguished at not knowing how to respond to it.

“You have had a long day,” she said. “Let me make you something to eat. Surely you can eat after this.”

He smiled. “You cook?”

“I try.”

“Then come,” he said. “Let us make our way to the kitchens. I would love to eat what my Sarah fixes for me.”

Without him having to ask, she tucked her hand within his elbow. They walked together down the corridors, his mood lifted. Hers, solemn with fear and doubt. So close, so close she had been, to revealing her love.

The kitchen was clean. Strangely modern.

She turned to him, overwhelmed. “I was beginning to doubt you even had a kitchen in this castle.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Well, it’s not like you ever cook in it.”

He shrugged. “I can be impatient.”

She looked in the cabinets, securing a large pot. She searched and found food items.

He looked at her, curious. “So what are you going to fix?”

“Chicken and rotini in pesto sauce.” She blushed. “I am not the most inventive chef.”

He leaned in and kissed her briefly on her temple. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“Thank me after I have given you the worst case of food poisoning you have ever had. I’m a bit out of practice.”

He _was_ impatient. He paced around the kitchen while she fiddled with the recipe, touching everything his fingers laid down upon. He came to stand in front of her as she was readying a cake for dessert. He reached out and flicked in the general direction of the breast of her gown.

“You have something on your dress.” His voice hovered on smoldering.

“Oh!” She looked down. “Flour. Figures.”

“Looks good on you.”

She grinned. “It would look even better on _you_!” She swiped her hand across his chest, smudging him.

He looked down, appalled. She cackled with delight.

He pulled her into a wrestling embrace. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

She cackled louder. “I know I’m funny!” She couldn’t breathe for laughing. He joined in.

“Well, my little chef. How about this?” Jareth took the spoon and slid it across her cheek and lips, seductive and dirty.

“The better to lick off,” she said. Trying.

“Indeed.”

His eyes grew hot. He bent forward and with a slick tongue, ran it smoothly over her messy lips. She pouted them open, in shock.

He licked his lips. “Mm, how good you taste, my Sarah.”

She grinned, her breath caught in a hitch. “Yeah, well...” She followed with a spoon across his lips. “What’s good for the goose is even better for the gander.”

She shrieked with laughter as the king grew a mustache of cake batter. She leaned in, repeating his actions and slowly licking it off.

“You are a seductive wench,” he said, his throat husky.

She dipped a forefinger in the batter and took it to her lips, circling her finger with her tongue and sucking it clean. His eyes grew dark with desire. She found the power she thought she had lost.

She dipped her finger again, holding it out to him. “Here, your Majesty. For you.”

He bent his head, taking her finger in his mouth. Sucking. Sucking. She felt the pull deep inside her stomach. Their eyes met, lush and wanting. Pleading for more and more and more. He leaned in as if he would kiss her.

Finally. So very, very close. Her eyes flickered shut, lashes black butterflies across her cheeks.

She heard the ruckus before she saw them. Goblins, in her kitchen. Her eyes popped open and she stepped back. Quick and aware.

Jareth heard them also. He halted their foreplay to stand in front of her, guarding and blocking her body from view.

He turned from lover to king in the instant. “What? Are. You doing. In here?” he barked at the nasty creatures. They halted, cold still.

A brave one glared at Sarah. “Want. Need...girl. Girl. Girl.”

“You will leave. Immediately!” Jareth demanded. “The girl is mine.”

They chattered, angry at the dismissal. The lack of prize.

“ _Leave!”_

It was not to be ignored. His Majesty, resplendent in all his glory, commanded his minions and made them scatter back to the darkness from where they came. Sarah hunched behind him, her stomach churning from fright.

Jareth turned to her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. “No harm was done.”

“Not now. But you were with me.”

She breathed out what she had hidden in her anxiety, a sorry relief. “I’ll always be with you.”

He inhaled sharply at her innocent words. He looked at her, then resigned himself that she didn’t mean more by it. He drew back, leaving her to glare at the mixing bowl.

“Is it almost ready?” he said, lightly.

“Is your Majesty hungry?” she said.

“Always.” She looked up, sharp. His eyes were hungry, and she felt reciprocal want. But she lowered her eyes again, back to stirring the batter.

“Let’s get this food on the table.” She ignored the flutter he gave her deep within.

He sighed. “Yes. Let’s.”


	12. Chapter 12

  


They danced around each other the next few hours, not touching, but never apart. Their distance in spirit was volatile and concrete. Sarah didn’t acknowledge him, _them_. He felt ready to give up, to release her. His whim wasn’t enough to keep her. If he thought she had broken him before now with her taunts and tease, it was nothing like the present denial. He was cracking, head to sole, falling back into mismatched puzzle pieces that could never be repaired or put back together again.

After their passionate culinary kisses, there was Nothing. She gave no indication of feeling any more for him than she had before, while he was ready to expire away from want. Jareth walked her to her rooms, ready to leave her to rest. She pulled at his arm as he turned away.

“Wait,” she said.

He paused, ramrod straight. He turned back to her, his face carefully neutral.

“My dress,” she said, turning her back to him. “I got into it, but I’m not sure I can get out.” She smiled, wan. “I tangled the laces pretty bad this time.”

He approached warily. To touch her again so soon, when he knew he couldn’t have her, was the worst kind of pain.

She lifted her hair from her neck. He saw his necklace nestled against her skin, her sweet and fragrant skin. He inhaled, careful to keep his erratic emotions at bay, not revealing. His hidden curse—the need for her. Such intoxication.

Jareth was careful not to touch her. He shook from his want. He felt like a youth again. More inflamed, in fact, for his youth had not brought her into his life. Now he had adult wants, adult desires. He fidgeted, his impatience at her coyness making him weak.

He hovered his fingers over the seams in the gown, loosening them but not untying. He feared his control should she bare too much to him. He heard her heartbeat, pulsing and erratic. It echoed within him as if they were already joined.

She turned around, holding the front of the dress to her breasts. He kept his gaze carefully on her eyes, still playing the gentleman.

She hesitated, looking at his collarbone, not his face. The games they played. See-saw futility, up and down and back and forth. It was dizzying, palpable.

“Jareth...”

He acknowledged with a nod. She continued, “I keep having those nightmares. Could you…?” She paused, uncertain. Then she swallowed and said, “I would like if you would stay with me tonight. If you can.”

There was no promise in her words. Just the beckoning fear that had come from her dreams. He nodded, his eyes noncommittal.

“I’ll leave you until you are ready to sleep. Then I’ll return,” he said. His voice was stark. He had to be cold to survive. She gave so little, his cruel Sarah.

She sighed, content. “Thank you.”

As he left the Queen’s chambers next to his own sleeping quarters, Jareth leaned against the closed door with agitation. To have her so close, not able to touch. It was his burden to bear. He would never harm her, do anything she didn’t want. Even as his body screamed for completion, for the release of agonizing wait. Sarah was still so young, a true youth, in spite of her adult life lessons. He had eons of knowledge behind him, and at times such as these, he felt truly ancient.

_She couldn’t know what she asked of him._

It was even worse, knowing he had tasted her and may never have that delight again. She had been reserved with him since then, but he wouldn’t regret it. No, never.

He clenched his fists. Clench, unclench. His fingertips carved into his skin, relieving the pressure he felt inside.

He felt the pull of her sleep beckon. He still stood outside her door, braced as if he would fall without the support.

Jareth almost didn’t go to her. But he would rather imprison himself than refuse her. He opened the door a crack, almost backing up and turning around. Still, he pressed forward, inching into her room.

He caught his breath and slid into the bed mostly clothed, under the covers, next to her. She moaned and reached out. He evaded her grasping fingers. Then he sighed, giving in to his whim, and took her hand. He held her fingers tight. Their joined fingers were all that touched. For Jareth, it had to be enough.

She dreamed. He was sucked deep inside. He didn’t refuse her, not even within her unconscious harboring.

Oshall. Eddie. Small yellow capsules and a fear of a red-haired nurse. He saw it all. He took and took and took, removing her pain. The night was agony; his want flared and consumed. He kept the hounding need at bay. For her...for her.

He closed his eyes as morning cracked the sky, tired but relieved. It was his gift to her, to take what she had sorrowed over for so long and give it a prettier face. He couldn’t move, his body recovering, but he couldn’t imagine a place he would rather be than by her side.

She stirred, rolling over and tucking in beside him. His joy was compounded. His Sarah. His beloved. She may never love him, but she was already his queen.

With an unsteady hand, he reached out and smoothed her sleep-tangled hair back from her rosy face. She was so beautiful. Lovely and whimsical, his pained combination.

She opened her eyes. And smiled. He quirked his mouth back at her.

“Good morning, love,” he said.

“Morning.” She blushed, tugging at the lowered straps of her chemise.

“No, darling. You are perfection the way you are.”

“My clothes are falling off me,” she said, shy.

“Precisely.” He smirked, though it took everything he had to play off his pain.

Their faces were centimeters apart. He saw every freckle, every small laugh line. Her eyes were flecked with gold. His favorite color, besides green, of course.

“Did you sleep,” she said, concern entering her face as she stared at him. “You look exhausted.”

“I don’t--”

“I know,” she said, giggling. “You don’t sleep much, either.”

“No.”

She peered at him, reaching out to smooth an arched eyebrow. He shivered.

“You’re not telling the whole truth, Jareth,” she said, soft. “I thought you would never lie to me.”

He shook his head. So weak. “I’m. Not lying.”

Too tired to be fully argumentative. Jareth eyed her watchful gaze. He inhaled a whistled breath. Her stare was aware. Discerning. He exhaled, raggedly.

“How--?” _How did you know..._

“I know that look. You’re hurt.”

He shrugged, his movement pulling the coverlet further down their bodies. She scolded him lightly, her mouth a moue.

“Besides,” she said, “I know you were there.”

He pretended ignorance. It was easy to be distracted when she had so much smooth skin revealed.

“You were there. In my dream.” She was persistent.

He played coy. “I am the Dream Keeper.” If he had the energy to shrug again, he would have done so.

“You took it from me.” She leaned forward and kissed him, plucking at his lower lip. Forgiving and contrite. Innocent with her ministrations. “I am not afraid anymore.”

“Good,” he whispered. It was worth it, then.

She chided. “You don’t have to make yourself ill because of saving me.”

“It is a small thing.”

“I know it’s not,” she said, kissing him deeper this time, her heartbeat erratic next to his chest. He pressed against her. Anything she bequeathed to grant upon him was precious.

“This is a good morning.” He attempted a laugh. He was still weak, and she lowered her brows, watching him.

“It’s better now that you are beside me.” She covered her face after she spoke. He fought a deep and perplexed inhale. Teeter-totter.

“Shy, Sarah?” She was delightful, so full of unexpected gestures and whim.

Her voice came muffled from under the blanket. “A little.” She paused and then said, “And I have to go to the bathroom but I’m only wearing this thin thing.”

“Don’t hesitate to get up on my behalf,” he said, smoothly. “Feel free to show me anything you have got.”

“Okay, I’ll get up, but because I really have to.” Her head came out from the blanket. “But you have to turn your face away.”

Jareth smiled. She was so dear, so enchantingly demure. Unexpected.

“I’ll turn my whole body,” he said, teasing her. “And I won’t even peek.”

She play smacked him. He pretended to feel pain. “Just make sure you don’t, my king.”

_My king._

Did she realize what she had called him? Jareth felt his insides soar. He beamed, and he didn’t even care if she noticed.

He kissed the tip of her flushed nose before she gestured for him to roll over. He felt her leap out of the bed, dragging half the covers with her in her haste.

He chuckled. He hadn’t felt such happiness in...forever.

He couldn’t imagine how giddy he would be if she ever decided to forsake him of his virgin state. He shivered at the thought, a weight of irridescent power glimmering over him. Millennia-old, and still a man untouched. He would continue to wait and wait forever if need be. He would never press upon her his desire. Especially now, now that he had found his perfect match. He settled his face, and his body, back to a bland nonchalance as he heard her approach.

She came bounding back to the bed, jerking the covers back up. “Okay, you can look now.”

“Who says I wasn’t?”

“You big tease!” she said. “I trust you and know you didn’t peek a bit.”

“Well, since your lovely image is forever imprinted behind my eyeballs, I need not worry,” he said.

Instead of asking him to leave, Sarah cuddled up near him again. He wondered about her changed state but didn’t want to disqualify it. He loved it, every moment.

She giggled as her stomach growled moments later, ingratiating upon the calm mood. He smiled. “Oh, the beast is rumbling,” he said.

“I am hungry,” she admitted.

“Then I shall have to feed my queen.”

She stopped smiling. He cursed himself for bringing the mood to an end.

“Jareth...”

“What do you want for breakfast, my dear?” He attempted to smooth it out by changing the subject back to her appetite.

She whispered. “Coffee.”

“Just coffee?” He wanted to touch her again, reassure her, but he didn’t risk it.

She nodded. “Um-hmm.”

She wouldn’t look at him. He slid out of the warm bed, tucking the covers gently around her shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll bring it to you.”

“You don’t have--”

“I want to.” He leaned down, despite his better intentions, and brushed a kiss across her cheek.

“Jareth--”

“Stay, my love.”

He took the moment to whisk himself away, out of her rooms. He stood back out in the hallway, where he had begun the night, sweat gathering on his temple. What had he done? And what would he do now?


	13. Chapter 13

  


He was cautiously optimistic when he returned with her mug of hot brew, made himself and not with magic. He had learned how she liked to take it: bold and steamy hot. His face flushed at the thought. How he loved her. His face tightened when he saw she had taken the opportunity to get out of bed and dress. She refused his offer of assistance.

She was upset, then.

He carefully set the mug beside her. She took it and sipped, not looking at him.

“Why did you have to ruin it, Jareth?” she said.

“I--” He returned to silence.

“Things were going so nice,” she said, soft. “But then I remember. I have to go home.”

“Home.” His voice was flat.

“Yes, can’t you see? I have to.”

He argued, cursing her for making him feel. “Why do you have to? I have offered you everything.”

“I know.” She was quiet. She played with her fingers over the mug.

He groaned. Time had caught up with him. Too soon, for he could only manipulate it for so long.

He tried honesty. It hurt—his heart, betraying him. He would compel her with his words, though the risk stymied against him. She had such power over him. He ached from his desperate need for her, for anything she would bestow upon him.

Some glint. Any love token.

“Sarah,” he said, reaching over the distance between them and plying her hand tight within his. She had never let him touch her so freely as she had in the past few days. His heart felt it could burst from the warm contact.

_Alone. So alone. But not anymore…_

“Jareth,” she said, looking up at him with distant, far away eyes. She was already escaping him.

He shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. How to hurt her, when he would rather harm himself. He knew his words would likely anger her.

“Sarah,” he said, defying his trepidation. He must speak. “You have taken all from me, and I am helpless to fight against it.” Would that he could rip the words out from his lungs, never having to speak them. He shuddered.

_Taken_ _._

She cringed. “What have I done?”

She ripped her fingers away. She was fiery, unrepentant. Alive in her intensity.

He feared. For her, to anger was to feel. He wanted more than fury from her; he wanted everything. _Beloved_. His heart, his soul, belonged to her. She mocked it, tossing back his need. Removing her hand from his, she clasped it to her cold, cold, heart.

He growled, his sudden anger a beast. Better to feel anger than the excruciating pain.

“What haven’t you done?” he said, instigating the flame. “You wished for me to come and take you away. I complied. I asked you to stay with me, to share in my kingdom. You refused. I have given everything, offered anything within your whim, and you turn your heart away.” The pain ripped. It tore his already shredded heart. “Really, you exhaust me, Sarah. I cannot keep up with your wants and dreams.”

With pain and finality, he bowed his head. He wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t feel relief at his spewing venom.

She blinked back tears, hiding her face from him until they disappeared. Cold, so cold, his ice queen. “So what do you want for me to do?” Her words were low, abject.

“Do?” He appeared to consult the question. He looked at her, finally. Calmer. Her chin wobbled at his tone. He had touched a nerve; he had made the barrier crack, a line of earthquake fury exposed.

“Yes,” she said, distress and exclamation in her voice. Her voice was wounded, as was the function of his beating heart.

He commanded, softening. “Come here.” Forgiveness rode like a tenuous wave between them. He saw the cloud of tears in her eyes, and he echoed them, deep within. “Sarah, come here.”

Like she had a cord connecting them, she obeyed. He reached up a curiously unsteady hand and touched her, skin flaring. He would remind her of their bond. Again electricity went off, the ever-present pulse of life that soothed between them. She wouldn’t believe, even as she felt the flow of power between them.

“So you want for me to--” she asked.

“ _Stay_.”

Neither hot nor cold in feeling, his words beckoned her. He ran his gloved fingers along her bare arm. It flared back at him, his power.

She licked her lips, her mouth dry at his persuasive touch. He stroked her skin, back and forth, lazy but insistent. Strengthening him, empowering her.

“Come closer, Sarah.” He tried not to beg, but his voice came out in a plea.

She nudged close, keeping a fraction of distance between them. Her safety.

“Do you want me, Sarah?” He needed it said. He _had_ to have it said. If she would _want_ , then she might stay. She nodded in hesitation, an incomplete answer.

His eyes flared. “Then _kiss_ me, Sarah. Let me know.”

_That you care._

She trembled. Power in her hand. He gave it to her, all to her, as he always did. She hesitated, watching him under her eyelashes.

“Sarah," he pleaded. " _Kiss me_ ,” he said, gulping her in. “Let me know.” Commanding in a seducing throb.

Hands trembling, she leaned forward. Up. Up, and flesh touching flesh. His lips were warm, fire leaping between them. His eyes flared.

“ _Touch_ me.” It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

She spidered her fingers across his skin, left open at the chest to reveal his pale flesh. She was warm, and he was hot. He threw back his head, his joy bounteous. “What you do to me, my Sarah,” he groaned.

“ _Jareth...”_

She begged even as he pleaded. He pressed his lips to her throat. He inhaled her, breathing in her sweet silky scent and warmth. He moved the kiss back to her pouting mouth. She made him wait, the seductress, and then she admitted him.

Their tongues met, stroked, lifting and caressing. He moved his head to fully accommodate her mouth. He deepened the kiss she bequeathed upon him. He wanted—everything.

She moaned and he followed suit. Throughout, he remained carefully chaste with her. She was precious, so very precious. _She had to know..._

Her skin was so smooth. So very delicious. He played his fingers upon her flesh, tasting, remembering.

Then she stopped, sudden, as if fire brandished her. She pulled back his shirt, concerned.

“Don’t!” he demanded as she promptly disobeyed him.

With a jolt she retreated, looking down at his skin. “What happened to you?” she asked. There was confusion in the question.

“Nothing.” He stared at her, uncompromising, neutral.

She ran her fingers through the air over him. “This is not nothing. Your skin,” she said, hovering over him. “It’s burned.”

He shrugged. “I cannot help its existence. It has been there since….”

“Since?” She prodded. He eyed her with caution, testing her.

“Since I came into Being.”

He bit out the answer, backing off from her. It was private—she had touched the core of him. His power, his lust. She frowned, stepping forward to meet him, not touching the mark, but exposing it to the air. It was set in a circle, black letters caressing over his heart.

 _Her name._ Engraved on his skin.

He shook his head, begrudging her curiosity. “Touch me anywhere. Just not that.”

Sarah frowned. He had just begged her for contact, now he refused it. _C_ _ontrary_.

“Why?”

“Ever the curious cat,” he soothed, but there was venom in his voice. Not against her, no. His eyes had fear in them, and he couldn’t mask it. He knew the danger, fearing the touch that would bring both redemption and obligation.

“What will happen if I--” she paused, watching his reaction to her words.

“Touch?” His voice clipped. He attempted to back away, far from her. Sarah pulled him back with a tug on his arm.

She nodded. Her eyes were wide.

“Then you will have no choice.” He eyed her, cautious, clarifying his statement. “ _I_ will have no choice.”

“No choice?” She pulled back in outrage. “You would force me to do something that I didn’t want?” She frowned at him, at his words. His mouth peaked in bitterness at the strength, the truth, of her words.

“It would be against everything in me, Sarah.” Deep sigh. “But it is power I cannot control. I have never known how to master it.”

Now she feared him. All he had done, forsaken. He felt unfamiliar tears touch behind his eyelids.

She jumped back, even as he thrust out his arm to pull her to him. He was stronger than her physically, and she followed him. But not willingly.

She questioned him further, blurting out the question. Her voice was shaky.

“What if I do touch _that_? What would you do?”

_What would happen to me?_

He admitted, rueful, “I can’t help what would result if you did, Sarah. I warn you of this. Don’t.”

She shook, as much from want as from fear. “I think--” She stumbled over her words. She faltered, her eyes wide.

Jareth groaned at her reaction. She was scared. Of him. He pulled away, pale, resolved.

_Just fear me…_

He cursed he had ever bestowed such words upon anyone. He would never want her terror.

“Have no fear, Sarah. I would never presume you would want to touch me.” Frustrated. He kissed her gently on the temple to belay his harsh words.

She retorted with words as harsh. “No, you’re right. I don’t.” She motioned away, far away from his side.

He was shaky. Unstable. Needing her. And angry. Very angry. Things hadn’t worked the way either of them wanted, with a culmination of senses and form.

She had exposed the greatest weakness he held. He didn’t know how the marking had come to be branded on him, but he understood its strength. And he had practically demanded she touch it.

What kind of creature was he? Mad, surely. Debatable in strength.

He feared he had just lost her. Lost her—again.

He reached out and pulled her back to his side, even as he sat stock still on the reclined back lounge. His fear of losing her was balanced out by his personal outcry. She would refuse him? The king!

“I can take it away. Just say the word.” He wished he hadn't spoken, but what is said is said. He waited.

She stammered. “What...what would you take away?” Her precious eyes finally lifted to his.

He grimaced like his words disgusted even himself. He pressed on, condemning himself further.

“Everything—all I have given. Your dreams, your memories. Me. Nothing would remain. Is that what you wish?” He bartered on her pride. “Is it, Sarah?”

She flinched. “I don’t know.”

He knew. He always knew. It was his blessing and his malediction.

He waited, tempering his restlessness, his hands lying lightly on his lap. She sniffed and stared at him. At his hands, tap-tapping.

“You would do that?” she said. “Take away my,” she paused, “Memories?”

_Of you..._

He locked his arms. Tight and hurt. But his face remained emotionless.

“If that is what you desire. I would do anything for you, Sarah.”

Don’t wish, my love. He would cave in if she wished.

“You say that, but,” she said, pausing. “Why do you care?” she said, not giving him a direct answer.

He spoke finally, not fully answering her. “I want only your happiness.” His body held tight, not fluid, not bending. Her words had such power over him.

“You would take everything?” She looked down at her own folded palms.

“If you desire.”

He cocked his head, watching her. She held him in her hands, her clutching palms.

“The dreams?” Her voice shook.

He wouldn’t bow down. A king never bowed to anyone, even to the queen.

“Come, Sarah, make your demand. I haven’t got all day.” He remained calm, observant.

“I wish...” she said. Pausing, breaking his heart.

“What do you wish?” His voice keened sharp, worried.

She didn’t say. She looked at him, intimidating before her. He didn’t move. But she did.

Sarah made in his direction, stopping to kneel down at his side. He looked at her, his question held in check.

She was so near...

She reached out a palm, unsteady. It touched his cheek, his jawline. He clenched under her inquisition. He groaned inwardly. Even now, when he tested her with his inquisition, she reached for him. He burned, the current between them fire.

His hands stayed by his side, clenched down into fists, but passion stormed his eyes. She continued, hesitant, plying her touch.

His wish. His dream. How did she know? _All she had to do was touch him._ So willing, her hands upon him...

With reservation, she touched her lips to his, coaxing. Pleading. He let her control him, holding back the intensity of his emotion. His immortal power.

With gentleness, she bestowed a pliant kiss, his lips bending at her whim. His mouth slightly opened, and she caressed him with her tongue. She pulled back after half a minute to catch air, but her breath staggered unsteady, matching his own.

“What do you do, my love?” He ran his finger over her brow line, where she frowned.

“I wanted to show you…” _Forgive me._ It was in her every motion, each touch.

“Show.” The word a bait, a cushion of his wounded soul. He wouldn’t let her get away. He pulled near, letting her body slide to his.

He lifted her across his lap. She lay on him, her legs splayed over his dark leggings. He settled her in tight to his side.

He saw her deepen her frown at the close contact. She didn’t deny him, but she refused to acknowledge defeat. He pulled at her with longing. His touch: possessive, wanting. Needy.

She squirmed. He groaned. She had him, from the top to the very bottom of his soul. His beloved.

Though he had never done so with anyone before, he removed the gloves that protected his hands from excessive touch. He wanted to experience all of her, even if it pained him.

“I can make you want me,” he said, attempting nonchalance when he felt agony. “So easy, with a mortal. Yet, you resist me. Why, Sarah?” He muttered, feeling her tremble against him.

“I am not ready for what you want, Goblin King.”

He choked back on his hunger. “I think you are more than ready. But I am a patient man.” He mocked himself, for he knew he had little patience. “I can wait forever.”

Then, as if healing the both of them, his bare fingers flared over her skin. Reverent. So light she would not have felt it if she hadn’t watched him with wide open eyes.

He went up and back down her arm, fingertip smooth with his pale lean fingers. She inhaled, breathing him in, and he reciprocated with staggering detail. She was smoke and mirrors, black ice and a hot summer breeze, and he loved every part of her. She was perfection; his opposite, his equal. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a sigh, he released her from his touch. She resisted him, deep in her core. For all that she knew, he was that ruthless monster who took mortal children, without compunction, without guilt. No amount of persuasive touch would remove that stain from him. No amount of mercy.

He watched her as she stared at the door of her bedchambers. She wanted to run. And he had to let her.

She wasn’t ready. He had Time, but not much more of it. He would have to coddle her emotion, as much as he dared allow.


	14. Chapter 14

  


Sarah kept him out of her room that night, pulling the lock to deny him. He felt her dreaming, though he avoided stepping in amongst it. It wasn’t fear that bound her to him within. It was desire. Masked like deception, her dreams played and tousled coy while he felt his arousal grow. She needed him, but he had forsworn not to infringe the boundaries of her locked door.

He heard her cry out. His name, beckoning on her lips. His mouth tightened, denying them. He was nothing if not honorable.

Jareth didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning he anticipated seeing her in his library, as was their custom. She didn’t come. He pulled a clock into the air in front of him and watched every ticking second.

For hours he watched.

His frustration tempered by the fact that she sometimes slept in. But it came afternoon and she hadn’t eaten anything, or come in to say hello. He found he looked forward to her greeting every day. He had grown used to it, a dangerous thing.

With irritation at his neediness, he pulled a crystal into the air and peered within. She was in his private gardens.

He told her she had free rein of his castle but she had never gone anywhere without him before. He watched her, concerned by her air of fragility. She looked out in the beyond of the flowers, her eyes distant and dim.

He knew that look. It was haunted loneliness.

Jareth debated going to her, pausing and declining. Then he changed his mind, mercurial when it came to her. He walked the distance through the corridors, giving her more time to be by herself.

When he joined her, standing by her but not touching, Sarah didn’t acknowledge him for many minutes. He broke the silence.

“Do you want to eat, Sarah?”

She had found her appetite while being in his world. She shook her head, though.

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was far away.

That’s when he knew she was at risk of true suffering. He edged closer and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She didn’t budge but she didn’t offer any more of herself.

“Sarah--”

“I’m fine.” She snapped at him.

“I know.” His words placated. “I didn’t see you this morning.” He paused, debating his words. “I missed you.”

She shuddered. She didn’t say anything nor did she look at him.

He took a seat on the bench parallel to her. He waited. Waited some more, not speaking.

As if a dam had broken, she turned to him with a glare on her face and bite in her voice. “You know,” she said, “I didn’t have a choice in coming here, and I didn’t have a choice in staying. I don’t know what you expect of me, Jareth.”

His mouth straightened into a thin line. Desperation. He truly felt it now.

“Sarah,” he said, attempting rationality. “You wanted to play my game. I took you away from the hospital--”

“Oh, aren’t you Mister Benevolent?” she said in a snap. Her words were harsh but the sigh that escaped her was sad.

He lowered himself by her feet onto the grass, her obedient slave. He didn’t care that he was king. She needed him, and not as her Majesty.

“Sarah,” he said, taking her limp hand. “Are you so very unhappy here, with me?”

Her fingers twitched. Reflexive, meditative.

“No,” she said, soft. “You’ve made me beyond happy.”

He saw her eyes brim with tears. “Oh, my Sarah,” he said, moving so that he was beside her on the bench within the instant. He braced an arm around her slim shoulder. “Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

She sniffled. “Do I matter that much?”

“You are everything that matters!” He couldn’t stop the break in his voice.

She nodded. “I thought you might say that.” She removed her hand from his and shrugged off his arm. She faced him, eyeing him with intensity.

“I am not unhappy here.” She lifted her chin, daring him to speak. He remained silent, watchful. She said, “I am trapped here. Just like you.”

“Is that how you feel?” He knew her truth. He had lived it for millennia.

“Yes.”

He swallowed, tears ready to choke him as he dared them to fall. “I understand.”

She growled. “Do you? I think you will say anything just to keep me here with you.”

He felt anger, welling up as his protection. “Yes!” he reciprocated her outcry. “I will. Do you blame me for trying?”

“That’s the thing, Jareth. I’m so mad at you,” she said, looking at him full face. “And I feel for you--”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, precisely. But would you rather I hate you?”

“Hot or cold, Sarah. It’s better than feeling just lukewarm towards me.”

She smiled, sadly. “I certainly don’t feel lukewarm.”

“You locked your door last night.” He pressed. “I know what you dreamed.”

“Of course.” She snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I am that I am.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Rather a godlike mentality, Jareth.” Her voice had lost its vehemence again.

“I am powerful. A king. How would you have me sound?”

“Like the man I have grown to know. You can be so kind, and gentle, but then you go and ruin it by saying stuff like that.”

He shrugged, not knowing what to say to that. She looked out into the distance again. Her eyes were mist. Distant and forlorn as the wildlands. “I haven’t been as truthful with you as you’ve been with me.” She faded out into a whisper.

He feared. She had never sounded so dejected.

“What, Sarah? You can tell me anything.”

She quirked her mouth with ironic disdain. “You won’t like it.”

“I’ll try not to get angry,” he said. His patience was waning. She could be so obtuse. Couldn’t she see that he loved her?

She questioned him rather than confessing. “Why were you watching me at the hospital?”

“You knew about that?” He hid his shock.

She snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s not often an owl camps out at all hours of the day and night.” She paused significantly. “For years.”

He measured his words. “I was interested in you.”

“Why? Because you don’t see enough crazy people?”

“Sarah, we both know you aren’t crazy.”

“My family certainly thought so.” She looked at their joined hands, sitting on her lap. “I thought so,” she said.

He wondered where she was heading with her conversation. She breathed in deep. He watched. Waited.

“Especially when I told them of my incredulous adventure.” She looked at him pointedly, her obtuseness in glaring form.

“Sarah, you’ll have to be more direct than this.” He pleaded to remain calm, patient.

She blurted, “I’ve been to the Underground before.”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He clutched onto her palms, so tight a squeeze she let out a soft moan of pain. His words stammered out. “I would know. I know everything that goes on here.”

Pitiful reasoning. When he knew; he knew inside him the truth, and it scared him.

“Not if I took away your power over me.” She looked at him, anticipating his reaction.

He felt chinks of him settle into place. She was Sarah, _the Sarah,_ the one who had betrayed him. The one he had paraded his heart before, so many years ago. The one that denied him, then and now. It made so much sense. But how had he not known? How had he not foreseen?

He stood up, pacing, as he was wont to do when deep thinking. He lied—to himself, and no other. He had masked her, a pretty painted dance that screamed revelation even as it twirled and denied. He knew; he knew.

“Jareth, are you angry?”

“No.”

He pushed his arm out, making her hush. He couldn’t respond, not yet. He mulled over her words.

Sarah, his Sarah. The Labyrinth runner. _The winner_. He felt his heart pulsate and he rubbed at it reflexively.

She nibbled on her lower lip, pondering his silence. “Jareth...”

He felt a surge run through him. Hope and wonder and anger, spewing in cathartic release. He took the two giant steps to reach her. _His beloved._ He pulled her up and into his arms, muting her wounded cry with his mouth.

Over and over he kissed her. Deep, soft, harsh. She was his salvation, his soulmate, and he had ignored the wailing of his heart. Telling him of her deception. Begging him to plea her love, just as before.

“My little deceiver,” he said, plying her mouth with insistent kisses. Gentle, loving, and spilling the contents of his heart. “How you win me over, my treacherous one.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Why? You are here now.”

She pulled back from his ministrations. Abrupt and sinister in her removal.

“You expect me to stay.”

He felt his eyes widen, confused. “Yes.” A king, stammering. How she robbed him of his dignity.

“I can’t.” She choked the words.

She moaned and laid her head on his chest, breaking into bitter sobs. He held her, loose-limbed. Uncertain.

He tightened his arms upon reflex. “You would leave me? Now?” he said.

“I don’t know!” Muffled.

“Sarah.” He tried to delegate patience. “I am not a beast. I won’t hold you against your will.”

She snorted, still crying. “I sometimes want you to. So I don’t have to decide.” She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She was killing him now. He pushed her carefully away from him. He had to think. _Think!_

Sarah was a willing prisoner. But he couldn’t make her so. He shook his head.

“Don’t,” she said, begging. “Don’t push me away, Jareth.” She reached up, up, palmed his face in her hands.

He snapped. Her gentleness was his undoing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

  


He growled. “You seem to forget. I can be cruel, also." He was millimeters from her body, abusive in his intensity. “Sarah, my beautiful seductress.” He grabbed her tight by the arms, pinning her to him. “You have made me wait.” He stalked her with his eyes, brandishing his want. “And I have waited. So. Very. Long.”

She inhaled. Deeply.

He couldn’t wait another second. He took his hand and placed it sharply behind her neck, yanking her to his open waiting mouth. It was harsh, wet, and very sumptuous.

She complied, willingly. More than that, she lunged into his hard body, pressing her form to his. Moaning, he wasn’t sure who made what sound. His was like a ferocious beast uncaged. Hers was the feminine version.

“Don’t...stop,” she said, pressing on him.

“No, never.”

Kiss, touch. He poisoned her mouth with his lips.

_“_ _Sa-rah.”_

Her name was a litany, a curse, a plague of senses. She leaned into him, frantic. He knew and he never wanted to go back. She was a total aphrodisiac, lulling him in.

He no longer had to hide his want, his need. She responded with an arch, complimenting him. She had always been his complement. Sarah….

He decided for them both, taking them inside the castle with a blur of air and space. Time relapsing.

She begged. “Jareth, please.”

“I am yours to obey, my Queen.”

She didn’t fight him at his words. He felt her pull tighter against him. Soft against hard. His bed was near. Taunting them.

He pushed her onto it, leaning over her braced on his arms, just seconds before he covered her. His body was melting lava, and she responded in kind, though he had hardly begun to touch. How long he had wanted this, her. The years had been cruel, and so had she. But now, oh now, everything would be made right.

He pulled back an instant, observing her. Her eyes were still wet with her tears. He leaned in and kissed her eyelids. She smiled, ran a finger down his cheek.

“Jareth.”

“I.” He paused. He was weak, but for good reason. He had never felt such embracing love. “Sarah, I would do anything--”

“I know.” She pulled him down to her. “Now do it.”

Permission granted. His gloved fingers swept from neck to hip in one long swoop, savage and in warning. He pulled up again, long enough to rip off his cumbersome shirt. Exposed, his heart, to her observation.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Jareth...” She laid a hand over him, his soul waiting. His branded mark was covered, and by the very fingers he wanted to touch him. He heard the growl escape his parted lips.

 _Stop now...Stop, Sarah. Before I can’t_...

He watched her under lowered lashes. She pressed tight against him. He moaned, deep in his throat. She wanted him. He grinned, inward. Yes, it was right. So good. He was breaking, aching in shattered pieces.

 _Don’t ever stop. Want._ She pressed, her body demanding him.

The longing sang like a love song as he stared down at her. “Sa-rah.”

It was a warning, his face twisted with need for her. He begged. Pleading with her. _Don’t let me go._

Like he was breaking in two, the hardness and the softness clashing, he threw his head back. The power beneath his heart beat rapidly, straining at her.

“Sarah, love.” He muttered. Growled, hoarse. “You go too far. I...can’t...”

His warning seemed to amuse her. She reached up and pulled him back down to her, a coy smile on her face.

“I know.” She demanded him near.

He moved his head to deepen their kiss, tongues meshing, clashing and praying together. She lifted her neck and he tongued her skin, nipping below her ear with greedy teeth. She met his mouth again, begging. Repentant.

With one swift motion, he took his hand and smoothed her gown, then with a savage hiss, tore the material away. He touched her bare skin, masterful. Needy, following the path of his hand with his lips.

He paused, staring down at her pale body, covered only in the thin chemise. An obstruction that would have to be removed.

“My Sarah,” he hissed, plaintive.

His head leaned down and rested on her breast, tender, wanting. She reached up and stroked his scalp, eliciting deep bliss from his throat.

“Mine,” she said, arching under him. She moaned, demanding attention elsewhere. “Your gloves,” she said, breathy. “Take them off. Please.”

It was the please that shook him. He leaned up, their bodies connected only at loin, and he snatched his burden off, throwing them to the side before meeting her flesh once more. He swiped his hand over her, removing the fabric that covered her.

_Magic._

Her breasts were free and he lavished on them, sucking and pulling. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. More, more.

He would give her anything. Everything. She was his.

He was hers. All of him. She pleaded his touch, his kiss. So near, too far away. She leaned into him, frantic.

She tore at his clothing, and with delighted amusement, he unloaded the barrier. He wore nothing under those tight breeches. He smiled, triumphant, watching her innocent eyes widen at the sight of him.

This was worth every second, every minute, every year that he had gone without her. He compromised his lonely state, but how worth it to be her slave.

He grinned, exposing himself fully to her view. “What do you want, Sarah?” He leaned over her, not touching but for their sprawled together legs. “Tell me.”

She quivered. “I want…” She looked up at him, pausing at the intimate pleading.

He ran his fingers down her body. “Tell me,” he begged, needing her words.

“You. I want you.” She bit back a groan. He smiled, compliant.

“Yes,” he moaned. He paused, looking down at her, bare beneath him. He chuckled, pleased. “Sarah,” he silkily intoned, running his fingers down across her stomach and hip. “You have a tattoo.”

She blushed. “It’s nothing.”

He shook his head, delighted as he looked at the inked owl. “It’s a part of me, love. It’s beautiful on you.”

_You are beautiful._

She hid her face in his chest. He tenderly kissed the top of her head, her face, her neck until she soothed. She gave in to him, all of her to him. He felt his strength soar. She gave him power, even as she took.

And took. And took...

He bowed to her, seducing. Promising.

His fingers replaced the fabric he removed, stroking, soothing her hot tender flesh. More, more. She arched under him. Still, he loved her, not stopping. No, never stopping.

“I’m going to…” Her breath was hot, staccato in his ear.

“Come, my beloved.”

He needed her. First. Only. He urged her on.

She came with a sharp inhale, riding the waves of pleasure. “Yes, my love.” Jareth soothed her, making her ride the waves of her passion. _“Yes.”_ He could feel her under his fingers, hot and wet and pulsating. Like life-blood. Like the rush of his heart, tasting her and soaking her in.

She twisted. Begging. She wanted him still, and her motions sucked him in. On her, inside her. She pulled him tight. He complied, a deep groan needling him. He bent back over her, impaling her inch by glorious inch until he met her wall of silken flesh.He heard the hiss of her pain and he pushed himself to wait. Wait, not moving. His brow glistened with the sweat of restraint.

He felt the smooth silk of her muscles tighten around him. “Sarah— _fuck!_ ”It was so hard to be patient.

“Jareth,” she said, wiggling after an excruciatingly long moment passed. “Come on.”

He grunted. He felt the implosion of his body, heating up. He bit his inner jaw, trying to contain the power that drove them together.

They found the rhythm. Back and forth, in and out, they plied their trade with tongues and sweaty bodies. He knew he was ready. All these years, what he had missed.

“I love you,” he said, tucking his face into her neck. He came with his head thrown back and her name on his lips, forceful and masterful, echoing her second strengthened orgasm. Oh...he pushed in her one last eager time, his seed spurting, opalescent hot inside her. It was so good.

He glorified as he slumped over her, exhausted, rejuvenated. He glowed. His skin glittered, basking in her, and she shined along with him.

“Thank you, my love.”

Words weren't enough. He leaned up, over her, kissing her softly. He hid his grateful tears. Not alone, anymore.

She covered herself with her comforter. She was still dripping his sex from her body. She was oddly quiet. He braced up onto his arm, watching her. Wary.

Goodbye. He heard the unspoken promise, a warning.

He was the powerful man that had confronted Sarah at the beginning of the Labyrinth, dressed in his Goblin armor, all in black. He was the king. But more than that, he was her slave. He demurred a moment, observing her. Pleading silently.

_Please don’t leave me. Not now._

He begged, his eyes imploring for her to understand. _Not yet_ , _not yet._ How could Time be so cruel? He made a move to speak. Stopped short. He held out his palm, soft side up, vulnerable. Defenseless.

“Sarah.” Warning. His heart exposed. “Don’t do this.”

“You can’t make me stay.”

Her words were a soft whimper, strengthening in force. A tempest, a swell of air and sea and Time. She was powerful. He was at her mercy, and he had never felt so abject.

“No.” He felt his heart rip. She touched his cheek, so loving. So cruel.

“Not now, please, Sarah.” A king, begging for redemption. He didn’t care how weak he had become.

“Now...” Her mouth puckered with unshed tears. “When if not now?”

He shook his head, his body quivering. She would refuse them, after their love--

“I have nothing left.” She puckered her forehead, sad. “Nothing.” Her mouth pouted in a frown. “You have given me so much, but--” Her words echoed in silence. _It’s not enough._

“I won’t go back on my promise,” he said. _You_ _mean everything._ “I’ll send you back.” He would do anything, even that. “But please, my love, not now.”

“Now. Before you can’t. Before I can’t.”

Truthful. Harsh. She looked at him, long and cool. Imperial. “I wish..." She paused and then grated out bitter words. "I wish...”

She was going to say the words. He braced himself, not comprehending. “Sarah,” he said, a jolted warning.

She touched his cheek, swift, loving. Her eyes met his. Then she clenched her jaw.

“I wish I could go home.” She looked him straight in his face, his betrayer. “Right now.”

He bowed, eyes hurt but face stern. “As you wish.”

I can't deny you anything, my Heart. _I cannot keep you… My Beloved_. The sentiment taunted him. _What’s said is said._ Her pride, his downfall. It was too late.

She was gone in a cloud of glitter and chime, his power driving her away. Jareth was alone, his rumpled comforter the only reminder she was ever there. He bowed his head and sobbed bitterly.

  


**A/N: _It’s not over yet..._** _Please let me know what you think!_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

  


Over and over she saw his face fall. As Sarah lifted into the sphere of Time and was whisked back into her own above world, Jareth’s expression came to her: mingled with sadness, lust and loss of hope. She feared she had broken him, this time forever.

She lay in her bed, back in Oshall. Dismissal papers lay on the dresser, yellow and coded with scrawled signature. She was being released.

Eddie knocked on her half-open door. “Hey, sleepy-head.”

“You’re in a good mood.” She attempted normalcy, straightening her mussed hair. She fought to ignore how it had come to be so disheveled.

“That happens when you’re ready to bust out.”

“You too?” She sat up. Her body was sore and she recalled, with a flush of vivid detail, how it had come to be so. She was still damp in between her legs, a mingling of sex and her virgin stain.

He laughed, a sound she heard rarely from him. He was usually so serious. “I’m not in here by coercion, Sarah. What kept me here was you.”

She peeked under her covers. Jareth had given her back the outfit she wore into his Labyrinth, a pair of pink and lime green pajamas. Intact, more than she could say for herself.

“That’s nice.” She spoke by rote. His eyes, so haunting. She couldn’t get Jareth out of her mind.

“Sarah, are you alright?” Eddie came to stand beside her. His nose wrinkled, marring his smooth, handsome looks.

“I should ask the same of you. You swallow a lemon recently?”

“It’s,” he paused, contemplating her, dragging his eyes over her hair to her sockless feet. “Nothing, I guess. Just a crazy thought.” He didn’t finish, and his expression didn’t change.

She pulled at her clothing, the rub of it on her skin, tender and seductive. She smelled of Jareth. She reeked of _them_. Sarah blushed, wondering if Eddie knew. She felt the scenario was written all over her.

“What are your plans for after?” he said, still narrowing her eyes in her direction. Puzzled and unsure.

“Go home. Fight with Karen. Make Toby scream and yell, the usual.” She attempted lightheartedness when she felt anything but.

“My offer still stands. I have a huge, worn down and junked up Victorian in need of company. I’d love if you considered it.” He handed her a piece of paper. His address. “It’s an hour away from your family, and I know cab fare is out of this world, but if you ever need a place to stay...”

She took the paper, written on a torn art therapy paper. His crayon markings were embedded into the fiber of the glaring white sheet. Crayons, like they were children that couldn’t handle a pencil.

“Thanks.”

She put it on top of her discharge papers, taking a close second look at the address. Upper state New York, closer to Massachusetts. She had heard of the township. Geography had always been a strong point, thanks in part to the Labyrinth.

“I can wire money if you need it. Just let me know.”

“Eddie--”

“Listen, Sarah, I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. You and I both know what your family is like, and they probably haven’t improved much.”

She twisted her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “Cab fare alone could clean you out.” She shrugged at the paper on the dresser. “Are you sure?”

“I have enough. It’s good to be military.”

She reached out and touched his arm. He grabbed onto her hand, drawing her near. “Sarah, don’t forget me. Promise.”

“I promise.” She shrugged. “I guess I should change.”

“Pajamas will never feel the same way again.” His attempt at joking sounded like an admission of a crime, he was so serious.

He left, and she changed and gathered her few belongings together. As she removed her top, she saw the necklace that had become like skin, she was so used to its touch. Jareth’s necklace. He hadn’t taken it back.

She almost burst into tears. Fingers smoothed over its surface, the pendant stone dull. It appeared lackluster, but maybe it relied on the magic of the Underground to gleam. She tucked it under her sweater. It would be chilly out, mid-September; leaving with a necklace that probably cost well over several million in her world would definitely be frowned upon, so she made sure it was hidden.

She met the security guard at the front entrance, carrying her single white plastic bag with her toiletries and change of clothing. As she walked through the front door, she felt fear impede her joy. She hadn’t been beyond the confines of the walking ground in over three years. She had been a child when she arrived. Now, with the final removal of youth, she felt the embrace of adulthood. All its ugliness, the implied beauty, the hope.

A station wagon was waiting at the curb, brown and green boxy lines and the dent in the side from the crash into the neighbor’s trashcan. “Dad,” she said, that very hope festering and swelling inside her.

“Hello, Princess.” He reached for her bag.

“I didn’t expect you. I mean, I thought I would have to take a cab.”

His eyes were shallow, not cold but not openly warm, either. He looked older, worn and rumpled. But he was still a familiar face, and Sarah leaned in to embrace him.

He patted her awkwardly on the shoulders. Touching but not touching. He hadn’t been demonstrative with her since she started her period at age twelve. Her father seemed to have a fear of her femininity, though he certainly admired Karen’s blatant sexuality.

“I got the call this afternoon. Took two and a half hours to get here. Traffic.” If the word could have been a curse, it would have been. But her father was too pasty-white to ever curse in front of her, though she was certain when he met with his poker friends on Sunday night, he let loose.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was politeness in acquired form. It was always so with her family. Yes and no and I’m sorry. Never the fire. Never the icy flame.

She missed Jareth with a sudden intensity that almost had her doubled over with pain. He would never let her get away with mealy-mouth phrases or excuses. He wanted all of her: her joy, her sorrow, her aspirations. But she had forsaken that, forsaken him, all in the coldest manner possible. Jareth would hate her now. And now—now she had her suburban complacency to fall back into, the half-souled living she would have to endure from here out.

She muttered the acceptable and established phrases. “How is Karen? And Toby?”

Polite. Distant. The way she had been groomed for acclimation.

“Fine, good. Karen should have dinner ready by the time we get home.” She noted that he didn’t mention her brother. It was just as well; Sarah didn’t need a reminder of how her brother had changed from a vivacious baby to a vacant child.

Her father opened the back trunk door and sat her bag within. The spare tire space had his necessary road trip equipment: tire chains, water, extra blankets and a bag of non-perishables. It had been her stepmother’s idea to always have them handy. She was obsessively organized, reeling in her scattered father.

As she slid into the front passenger seat and they pulled around the circle to exit, Sarah took one last look back at the brick facade. Goodbye, my prison. Hello to my new one.

Eddie’s invitation was sounding better and better by the moment.

She and her father rode in silence, abbreviated but for her father’s comments on careless drivers and direction. He made like he knew his way back, but since he had rarely visited her in Oshall, his way was not clear.

“So,” he said, not looking at her. “Meet anyone while you were there? Any new friends?”

She swallowed. _Just a Goblin King._ “Just Eddie. I’ve mentioned him before.”

He nodded. “Should I be worried?”

She scoffed. “By what? You don’t think I would start a romance while I was locked away, do you?”

Her father’s jaw tightened. “You weren’t locked away, Sarah. You needed to be in a very special place that understood--”

She finished, cutting him off. “My very special problems?”

He sighed, acting very put out. “I hope we’re not going to have a repeat of the same attitude you displayed before you left.”

“No, sir.” _No sir, if only for her own sanity._

Sarah looked forward. They would never believe her, and they would never accept she was, in most respects, like any other eighteen year old. She wanted to curse. Didn’t her father remember being her age? Sass and self-expression went hand in hand.

She refused to converse after that, giving grunts and non-committal comments. Yes, no or maybe so, like a children’s game that faltered between friends. But her father was no friend, and she had more to say than she was letting on. _Please believe me. Let me be your daughter again. Make everything okay…_

Her father slowed the car as they made their way into town. It was a small place, established older homes and independent shops on the main street. Boring. Where everyone knew each other’s business and the local women’s charity groups did nothing but sit around and gossip. Karen was in on the obnoxious thrum.

Their driveway had a large dip at the end, and Sarah held onto the dash as her father took it at a too sharp angle. Fast. He was irritated with her. He shut off the car and opened the car door whiplash-quick. He pulled her bag from the back and was walking up to their cobblestone walkway before Sarah had finished closing her door.

“Dad, I can get that.” Make nice. Play cool.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s too heavy for you.”

Typical. He thought women shouldn’t, or couldn’t, do anything on their own. He coddled her stepmother, and Karen seemed to actually enjoy the chauvinistic approach. Sarah had been alone for too long not to have re-established her own way of thinking.

The front screen door swung open, propped by Karen, dressed in a skirt and silky blouse. She made the occasion formal. Perhaps it was. Sarah was a stranger to them all now.

Karen pasted a sickly sweet smile on her face as she went up the sidewalk to the door. “Sarah, how delightful.” As if she were the company, come to visit.

“Where’s Toby?” Sarah asked.

“Taking a nap. You know how excitable he gets at this time of day.”

Sarah didn’t. She didn’t know anything about her brother anymore, just that he was not the same responsive and active brother she had saved in the Labyrinth. Toby was a shell, just like her. Must be the Williams bane.

“I’d like to see him.” Impatient, yes, but her brother was the only family member she truly wished to see.

“Perhaps later. You don’t want to wake him. He gets cranky without a long rest.”

Sarah slid past her stepmother, barely touching. She accepted the token hug, part tip of finger, part lean. Never fully embracing. What she wouldn’t give for a true expression, something not cold or calculated to look impressive to others.

 _Jareth._ He slid into her mind like an evening’s breeze, warm and intoxicating. Real, without being cloying. She missed him and cursed herself for doing so.

Her father had taken her bag to her old room, redecorated with Karen in mind. Sarah trudged up the stairs, taking two at a time so that she could stretch her legs. It felt good, the pull, the slight pain from non-exercise to moving.

Karen followed behind her. “You’ve gained some weight, Sarah.” Her voice softened. “You look better for it.”

She had needed to gain weight. She might finally fit back into her clothing.

“I’ll go light on dinner.” The words were a mere hum.

She felt triumphant while making the claim. It was control when she had so little of it within her family. Control—it was how she had lost so much weight to begin with. It was easy to pick and push, never eating a full meal. Barely surviving until she went back Below, where the king had incited her to want to rescind her control over to his will. He had given her the power to live when she had been nearly dead.

“But it’s your favorite. Lamb with roasted rosemary new potatoes.” Sarah wanted to roll her eyes. That had never been her favorite. She liked pizza, and the fewer toppings the better, since she tended to be picky.

“I’ll do my best.” She contrived to stay civil. Her father watched the interaction, mute as he always was, not interfering. Not supporting.

She opened the door to her room. Freshly painted, crisp cream and mauve, with bedding in a soft, viridian green. These were not colors she would choose. She liked vibrancy, panache, glamour. Again she thought of being Underground. Those rooms had been just her taste.

From the opposite bedroom across the hall, she heard Toby stirring. A whine, a moan and a soft shuffling cry. She felt her heart sink. He was not the brother she first came to appreciate. He was less than; she was less than, too.

Karen looked at the door, ready to leave. “Your brother is awake. I’d best see to him.”

“Let me.”

“No. I don’t think that’s wise. He doesn’t remember you.”

 _And whose fault is that?_ Sarah closed the door after Karen departed. She sank onto the edge of the bed. Same mattress. Same canopy. At least that hadn’t changed.

The shelves on the walls had been taken down. There were no more stuffed animals in their specific niches. The posters had been removed, the toys put into boxes for donation. But, sitting on the same vanity, a small red book.

_The Labyrinth._

Sarah brushed her fingertips over the gilt edging. The cover was worn, some pages were falling out. She had always been rough on books.

Karen popped her head back into the door, not knocking. “I kept that. You always seemed to like that fairy tale.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, Sarah, I hope you realize that we did the very best we could. You were so different after a while. Like a stranger.”

Sarah listened, her head cocked, her palm tight on the book’s cover. Karen continued. “You were polite but so very distant. Not like a regular teenager, you know, dating and parties,” she said, sighing. “And those stories!” The last was said like a curse.

Sarah said, soft. “I tried. I wanted to be normal.”

“I know you did. But...”

 _She wasn’t._ The unspoken reason blared out. Karen coughed, a petite excuse to change the subject. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” She made to close the door. “Oh, Sarah. We dress for dinner. Wear something nice.”

Since when did that become a habit? Her father must hate that, for he loved his day-off sweatpants and holed tee-shirt. Sarah would bet those had been tossed as well.

Dinner was extravagant, almost like they were celebrating. The only difference was, Toby threw one fit after another, demanding to be held, demanding to throw his food across the table, hitting Sarah twice, and knocking his plate finally on the floor. He had a wild, unkempt and mischievous glint in his eye while he did those things, and Sarah would have believed him half-goblin with his antics. She almost wanted to accept that; it was better than reality.

“May I be excused?” she asked, not able to do more than pick at the dinner. Her father nodded, distracted as usual.

“You barely touched your food,” Karen protested.

“I guess I’m just worn out.”

Her stepmother opened her mouth to protest again, but she was distracted by Toby. Sarah bolted from the dining room, relieved to be gone from the chaos.

That night after a quick shower, not timed as in Oshall, Sarah lay in bed thinking of Jareth. She had to do what she had done. She couldn’t stay, become his and nothing more than a subject of his lonesome kingdom. No matter how much she enjoyed her time there, how happy she had become while there. She had to leave; it would save both the king, and she sighed, her as well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

  


Morning came, and she hadn’t slept more than an hour. Her father hinted at her finding a job while she stayed at home, so she dressed, fixed her hair and was out the door to town by mid-morning.

Job hunting was hard. Sarah had no experience and from the moment she walked into her first business, she knew she had been targeted by the parochial gems that were the townsfolk.

She begged for a job at the local library. The head of staff shook her head, not even giving her an interview. Sarah begged for a job at the local grocery. The manager took one look at her, noted her name, and then dismissed her with his attention on someone else. The local strip mall wasn’t hiring. She hated babysitting, though there were fliers in the laundry mat for Jacob Stevens, the local six-year-old terror. She wondered what kind of parents advertised in a wash and dry.

No one wanted to hire a girl that had been removed from high school in tenth grade, never getting her diploma, and being sent to a mental facility. They looked at her if she were dangerous, and it was at moments when they flashed their superior smiles that she wished she had the ability to bog each and every one of them.

She had walked the streets by A to L, Aisquith to Lemmock. There were few businesses past those. She felt a defiant sob escape her. She made it over to the next block, where the teenagers congregated in front of the only fast food joint in town.

She saw their mouths move in hushed whispers, heard the taunts. _It’s her, the mental freak. It’s Sarah Williams. I heard she tried to kill herself._

She tipped her chin up. Behind her eyelids, the tears flowed copiously, but on her face, none had escaped. She was Sarah Williams, defeater of the Labyrinth and lover of the king of the Underground. She smirked. Little did they all know. For a brief moment, she had clutched in her hands the heart of the most powerful man she had ever known to exist.

Walking past the naysayers, her back straight and face pasted with blandness, she went into the refrigerator-cold building. She marched up to the counter, asked to see the manager, not much older than herself, and was hired on the basis of a few simple questions.

“You can scrub floors, empty trash cans?”

It was a simple job interview. She was willing to work; they were willing to hire. She answered affirmatively to both, not caring about the physical labor or how her family would be snobbishly affected by the position. She would make money; eventually, she would be independent.

Eventually, she would learn to live again.

* * *

 

Karen stopped her as she made her way to her bedroom. Darn, caught while on the run.

“Sarah, why do you have on one of your father’s sweatshirts again? Honestly, we bought you all of those new clothes since you got back and you’ve barely worn them.”

She shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Well, could you change? My book club meets in an hour and you said you would attend.”

“I never said--”

“Please change, Sarah.” No nonsense, full of worried anticipation. Karen took those luncheons so seriously.

“Fine.”

She marched up the stairs. Change she would, as she grabbed an old standby, her father’s button-down plaid that he wore for cutting grass. He never let the neighbor’s boy do it, said it kept him trim and healthy. Which she guessed he needed since he frequently snuck past Karen to devour her baked goods that were meant for something else.

She brushed her hair at the vanity, still long. Too long, perhaps? It was a bother now and would be more so in the future. Better to have shorter hair that was easier to pull back. Her long hair had always been a measure of pride to her, but now she wanted to take her own scissors and chop. Chop. Cut and annihilate. She kept brushing her long hair, whimsical and removed. Her face elongated with chagrin. Jareth loved her hair, and she put down the scissors she held gripped in her free hand. There were better ways to ravage herself. Her bound heart caused enough damage to herself without physical wounding.

Life was life. Work was work. She had, however reluctantly, resigned herself to the humdrum that had become her life.

She had been demoted to cleaning the restrooms and washing up the tables at her job. She would think about bringing that up at the luncheon. Wouldn’t the ladder climbing mommas love to hear about her social standing now? She smiled. She kept her boring routine because she had nothing better to do with herself. It was better than sitting in on these so-called book club meetings every Wednesday.

She didn’t go down until Karen came up to retrieve her. “Sarah, what has come over you lately? You had been behaving so well...” Her stepmother pushed her lightly out her bedroom door into the hallway. “Now,” she hissed, sotto voce. “Don’t embarrass me.”

No. Of course not. Never embarrass the queen of the Williams, proud matriarch. Sarah loped into the dining room where the women were gathered. Five sets of eyes molded onto her, perusing with glee her baggy shirt, the equally baggy black stirrup pants, the old sneakers. Karen cringed.

One of them came up and air-brushed her lips against her cheek. “How good to see you, Sarah. You look like you have put on some weight. Such a shame for that to happen when you are your age.”

Another nodded in agreement. “I know. I kept my figure until I was past my--” She giggled. “My thirties, at least.”

Sarah denied herself the pleasure of rolling her eyes. Dorinda Wilcox was well over two hundred pounds and under five feet tall. She hadn’t deprived herself of anything at all.

Defiantly she grabbed a cupcake, reserved for after the party had broken up. A book club, her ass. They did nothing but gossip.

She took an armchair, upholstered in satin sheened mauve, Karen’s favorite color. It was like someone had puked the color all throughout the room, intermixed with the green and cream. Disgusting.

Sitting in the chair sideways, like a certain Goblin King she knew, Sarah nibbled on the cake. It made her sick, truly, but she kept at it. It made Karen furious; Sarah had the teenage sensibilities to carry her obstinacy to the maximum.

After a while, she seemed to fade into the background and the women got to talking. In hushed whispers. About _her._

“How do you stand it, you poor dear,” said Dorinda. “I mean, look at her. It’s clear her mental state is fragile.”

Karen took a swig of her tea, generously laced with whiskey. That was her little secret; only the Williams clan knew of her clandestine affair.

“I know,” said another, a redhead with eyes that pierced sharp. “She is hardly the respectable girl you set out to raise. I mean, those clothes!” The whispers grew into cackles. “Menswear. How unique.” The way the woman said it, she hardly meant unique in a good way.

“Is she?” There was a pointed pause. “You know...amoured with the same gender? I’ve heard that’s becoming quite the trend with young people.”

Karen sucked in too much air as she swallowed, and choked. She nodded in a stupored dumbness, her eyes already reaching an intoxicated glaze. Unaware of her surroundings, and how the wolves prowled.

Sarah stood in a rush, crumbs scattering down about her feet. She ate like she had a hole in her lip, munching away in little birdlike bites. Karen may be able to tolerate these women, but she was ready to spew. Literally.

“Well,” she said, “This has been great. You’re all great. But I have to go, um, study.”

Dorinda caught onto that. “Study? How nice.” She cooed like a stuffed hen. “I wasn’t aware that you had graduated, my dear. Are you trying to get your, what is that called, GED?”

Titters. They knew Sarah had tried to go to the community college based on the excellent grades she had received before admittance to Oshall. She had been laughed away. Small towns; everyone knew each others business, and it spread to the farthest reaching corridors of the area.

Sarah grabbed another cupcake. Then two. Let them bite that! She took an overlarge swallow as she walked away, grabbing her oversize jacket before she went out the door.

“Umm, so good,” spitting out the words, ferocious. She choked the bite down. Then she slammed the door a little too hard as she exited.

She dumped the food in a bush as she walked to the park, always her refuge. Her breath caught in her chest. _Jareth. If you could see me now._

Her stomach ached, and not all of it from the sickly sweet confections. She had paced herself too fast, nearly running, and she hadn’t toned back up into full health since leaving the institution eight months ago.

Eight months. Hell would look better than her life at the moment.

Reaching the park, she settled into her favorite bench and watched the birds as they swooped and dived near the pond. So long ago, it seemed, since she playacted with nary a care in her costumes and flowered tiara.

She grabbed her stomach again. The pain came sharper. She started to sweat; her father’s shirt was too warm for the weather. Awful food. Nothing sat right on her stomach anymore. She gently rubbed her belly.

The pain didn’t diminish; in fact, it grew stronger, to the point she decided to leave the park when she had barely arrived. As she crossed over the small wooden bridge, she felt the cramp grab her again. Dizziness overcame. She leaned into the wood railing, a rag doll caught in hand by a jealous master.

A jogger going by slowed down. Stopped.

“Are you alright, miss?”

She was alright. Never better. She nodded her head, and then she felt herself sloop. Down, down, onto the ground.

Her eyesight dimmed. She felt the rush of air past her cheeks, the brush of her own tears. Strong arms grabbed at her.

Jareth…

He had come for her. She almost smiled, but the pain grabbed her again.

No, not Jareth, the jogger. He lifted her up as she lost consciousness.


	18. Chapter 18

  


Bright lights pierced her eyes. She was moving, fast, and she couldn’t move. Her arms were held tight under white blankets. Two sets of eyes peered at her as she awoke.

They were rushing, down a hallway. The institution? No, a hospital, though.

“What happened?”

Her voice was groggy. She knew—of course, that she had fainted into a dead unconsciousness, breathing but limp and worn. Both sets of eyes exchanged glances over her bed, rolling down the hallway at a clipped speed.

“Where’s my dad? Karen?” she asked. She needed them. She wanted them, had to have them near. She felt herself start to hyperventilate. No one to watch over her...

The orderlies smiled, reassuring, a look of passive disinterest. One of them barked out codes to the other one. The other patted her hand like she was a child. Which she, at the moment, never felt more like.

“Right here, Sarah.”

Her father’s voice was clipped, behind her. He had come home early from work. Wouldn’t he be mad: he had stated that morning that he had important meetings all day.

Karen stood near him and still had a nervous glaze in her eyes, brightened by the activity of the day. And the wealth of intoxicating liquor.

Sarah rolled her head up, behind her. Even Toby was with them; they never just took him out without good reason, as he was difficult in public situations. She had never been so glad to see them.

“What’s going on?” She asked, but she knew.

“I think you can answer that, young lady.” Her father had his no-nonsense business voice on.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Crap, he _knew_ , and she couldn’t get out of it.

“As well you should be,” said Karen, too calm. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’d better know. You are in a whole heap of trouble, Missy.” Her father had a red face and his words flared.

Karen touched her father on his arm. “Not now, Robert. Later, when she’s...better.”

He frowned, nodding, his face grim. “I will discuss this with you in your rooms. Later.” He meant it. Sarah nodded.

Karen grabbed and put on a hair mask and gown as she walked. “I’m coming in with you.”

Sarah nodded. She didn’t like Karen much, but she didn’t want to be alone.

A doctor came to their side, and he looked down at her. His nose hair grew out of his nostrils, black flumes of wiry bush. His face was stone, no emotion. But she guessed he had seen it all before.

“How many months?” he said.

“Eight, I think,” Sarah answered. It was an easy answer, so difficult to give.

“I’m Doctor Geilis,” he said. “Have you had any pre-term medical visits?”

Sarah shook her head, but Karen answered. “No, we had no idea. Not until we got here.”

The doctor grunted and looked at his chart. “You have extremely low levels of amniotic fluid, judging by your size and the preliminary tests we ran. This is very serious,” he said, his nose lifting and falling with every word. “We will have to monitor you very closely during your cesarean.”

“Doctor--”

He continued as if Karen hadn’t talked. The doctor clipped directions to a waiting nurse, the doors to the operating room opening. “You’ll have to stay here,” he said to her stepmother.

“Why--”

“No one allowed in the operating room. Protocol.”

 _Alone. Always alone._ Sarah called, prayed, wished for Jareth. This time as with other times. He never came. It was her fault, as it should be. She had denied the only happiness worth having: Jareth’s love.

She felt hot tears slid down her cheeks. Then the doors closed upon her, and she thought of nothing but the pain.

* * *

 

“Why isn’t he crying? Why isn’t he--”

Panic set in. Sarah wanted to cry, laugh, scream. Leave. All at the same time.

“Your son is fine, Miss Williams. We’re just running a check up on him and then you can hold him.”

A nurse came up to stand beside the other one. “Miss Williams, if you could answer a few questions.”

She nodded. The nurse had a clipboard, but she didn’t look at it. Her questions were rote, as were Sarah’s answers.

_Have you ever been or are you now in an abusive relationship? Do you fear for your life? Have you ever used recreational or any other drugs? Are you naming the father on the birth certificate?_

Endless. The answers came automatic, but the tears she held at bay. No, to all the questions. Karen came to stand beside her.

“She will raise this baby with her family. There will be no father.”

The nurse looked at her clipboard. “Baby boy’s name?”

Sarah spoke in a hush. “Adam. Williams.” The last came out like a wheezy moan.

Karen patted her shoulder. “Williams. Our last name, and Sarah’s.” She gave a reassuring smile. Why was she being so nice?

“Sign here.”

The nurse’s face portrayed little attachment, though she had a pleasant smile, filling out the forms and making a notation. The nurse looked up finally and saw her, really looked at her. She paused, taking in Sarah’s weary, emotional state. All Sarah wanted was Jareth.

“Do you want Baby Boy Williams to have a circumcision?” The question was quiet. Subdued in a mild reverence for her young age.

Sarah thought. Did she want to do that? Jareth wasn’t--

She pushed that away. “Yes.” Firm.

“Sign here.” More paperwork. Sarah was exhausted and just wanted to rest. She wanted her baby. But they were still monitoring him.

“What is taking so long?” Karen asked, sensing her frustration.

“Nothing. Just procedure.”

“Yes, we’ve heard that a million times,” Karen muttered and took Sarah’s limp hand. “We would like to hold him as soon as possible.”

“Of course.”

Then he was there, in her arms, red-faced, silent and watchful. His eyes were a hazy blur, blue, and his hair a downy brown. _So beautiful._

Sarah burst into the tears she had held back. “I love him.”

He was wonderful, so small. So perfect. _Hers._

Karen smiled. “I know you do.”

“I love him so much.” The tears wouldn’t stop.

“Are you going to breastfeed?” More questions, like she hadn’t just succumbed to an emotional outburst.

Sarah bit her lower lip, looked at Karen, and then nodded. “Yes.”

Karen looked at Sarah, looked at the nurse, and then said, “We would like some time. If she could finish the paperwork later.” It wasn’t a question.

Alone, Sarah expected a harsh reaction. Instead, Karen stroked her baby’s head with gentleness.

“Sarah, how long have you known?”

Bashful. “Since almost right away.”

“Hmm. That certainly explains your father’s baggy shirts. Oh, Sarah, why didn’t you say anything?”

The tears had stopped, but her shame had just begun. “I was...”

Afraid. The word hovered between them.

“If you had told us, we could have handled it. Maybe took care of--”

Sarah bit out in harshness. “No! That was never an option. Not for me.”

Karen nodded. She looked down at the baby’s head, his small blushed red and wiry body. She held onto his gripped fingers, catching a smile.

“There’s nothing to do about it now. We’ll just have to manage. Oh, and set up a nursery!” Karen’s words heightened at a new-found decorating chore.

Sarah closed her eyes. The baby—Adam—suckled, half-crazed from hunger, at her exposed breast. It _hurt_ , more than she expected.

“You know, you don’t have to do this. Your father and I, we can adopt him, make him--”

“No!”

Her words came in a harsh outcry. “He’s my baby. I’ll take care of him.”

“Sarah, you’re so very young. Not yet nineteen. You have your whole life ahead of you...”

“I have a baby now. He is my life.”

Karen pursed her lips, knowing. Not saying anymore.

Then her stepmother stroked her sweaty hair back from Sarah’s face. “Were you truthful? With the questions? Did someone...rape you?”

Sarah paled. “No. No.”

The words were agony. Jareth was condemned, still, by his not being there.

“Is it that young man that comes to visit, that military man?” Even without the nurse, the endless questions continued. She knew she should expect it.

Sarah scoffed. “Eddie? No.” She closed her eyes again.

Adam made soft, mewling sounds as he pulled with his mouth at her nipple. She reached with her other hand to smooth his erratic hair. _Just like Jareth’s, so unruly._ She smiled, wan.

Karen tucked the sheets up around her. “Your father isn’t happy. But we’ll win him over, you’ll see.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

Karen sighed. She paused and didn’t answer for a long while.

“Sarah, when I was your age, younger than you, I got pregnant. I terminated the pregnancy. In later years, when I tried to have another baby, it was difficult. I’m not saying I completely regret my decision. I always wondered, though, what might have been.”

Sarah nodded. She felt so very adult, at that moment, mother to mother.

“I’m scared,” she said finally. Admitting to the truth.

“I know, dear. You won’t have an easy life, not anymore. You will never be a child again.”

Sarah smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. She already felt old. “Thank you, for helping me.”

Karen didn’t respond at first. She just reached out, relieving Sarah of her prize. She smiled. “Yes, dear. I know.”

What she knew, she never said.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: For those of you who may be unconvinced that hiding an eight-month pregnancy is possible—know that it can be done! (Oh, the joys and perils of a large RL family..the stories I can pull from…!)**

  


**Chapter Nineteen**

  


Eddie became a constant visitor at the Williams house. Sarah knew what her family thought, that he was Adam’s father, but she didn’t care. She needed all the friendship she could gain.

Jareth was her secret. Now Eddie’s secret also. He never condemned. He simply held her son, his muscular arms tight and secure. He made her feel wanted when she had become nothing in her eyes but a mother. He made her remember she was female.

One year passed. Two years passed. Sarah turned twenty-one. Instead of the rite of passage she always thought she’d have at that age, she was home washing out bedsheets from the toilet training accidents and chasing after a rambunctious toddler.

Eddie took to her child as if Adam were his own. He would hoist him up on his shoulders, Adam squealing with glee, and then carefully swing him around in his arms until the boy grew tired, laying on his shoulder to rest. Adam rarely tired out easily. He was a whirlwind, and he exhausted Sarah. She was glad for Eddie’s ministrations, able to keep the boy out of too much mischief.

There were constant questions, and the type she never wanted to answer. Eddie was wearing her down, though. _Be with me, Sarah. Come with me, stay with me. I’ll take care of you._

Sometimes she wanted to give in, let someone else take charge. She was so tired. She felt so old. But she always said no, remembering Jareth with much regret. Then she’d change the subject.

He never stopped asking. She would say yes, maybe. Eventually. But for now, she hoped.

Hoped that Jareth would come. Excuse her, and pardon her. He never came. Her wishes were frantic; unanswered. Jareth never revealed himself, and she kept on existing.

Year three. Year four.

She sat in on the gossip parties, holding her _illegitimate child_ , and remaining silent. As she had learned to be. Silent and unobtrusive. Forgotten.

The only time she felt real, alive, was when Eddie came to take her and her son to her favorite childhood park and then later, out to dinner. He made her pretend that she wasn’t alone, a mother that gave into her own folly. Abandoned.

Part of her blamed Jareth, for he never came. Part of her stayed angry, that he had let her go. Even though it was her wish that desecrated them both. Most of her, it sorrowed. And kept on living.

She turned twenty-four. She forgot she had a birthday until the day was nearly done. A long day of chasing after Adam, doing laundry, cooking and cleaning up, wore her out.

She sat on the stairs, sobbing, the day waning into the night. Not wanting to claim the reason why her body felt battered and broken, the reason her heart pattered into a shell of itself. Jareth. She wanted Jareth, with all her heart and mind and soul. Damn her. And damn him too.

The next day, Eddie asked. And Sarah, she said yes.

* * *

 

They didn’t marry, but they did have a small ceremony in her family’s backyard as a celebration for their exchange of commitment. Her father darted his eyes across them with severity, as if he knew this would always happen. And he, for one, was not pleased.

Her father didn’t like Eddie. Just as well. Sarah found it hard to make herself explain her feelings, and with her dad judging, it made it easier to hold out on the man she had chosen to live with.

Eddie took to the relationship as he did all things, practical and methodical. He wore her down, sweetly and decisively. They shared a bedroom, but at first, she wouldn’t share herself. After many months went by, and she still hadn’t heard from her king, she let her friend have his way.

She cried afterward, not from the pleasure, but from her disgust at herself. She was a betrayer. She deceived on all levels, for she could never return Eddie’s feelings, and she had broken Jareth’s.

When she got pregnant again, one year in, she cursed her birth control and her fertility. She was bound to him now, Eddie, and he would never let her go.

She had a girl. Cathy.

Natural birth after cesarean, and more difficult than her first pregnancy and birth. Cathy was a quiet child from the beginning. Adam, still highly active, doted on his little sister. Some of Sarah’s brightest moments were when she caught her son sneaking quick kisses on his sister’s cheeks like he was stealing them.

Initially, Adam grew small for his size and Cathy became the taller one. They looked, for the most part, like a set of twins. Of course, her son had wild blondish brown hair, and her daughter the dark hair of her father. They looked nothing alike, and their personalities clashed, but the children were devoted to the other, and for this, Sarah rejoiced. She had very little to make her rejoice anymore.

One more year. Two years. Five.

Cathy had grown out of her chubby toddler stage, six years old now. Adam at almost eleven was lanky and looked taller than his height would indicate. His growth spurt hit early. He looked like Jareth.

Six years, seven. Gone.

Every once in a while Sarah would reach into her lingerie drawer, towards the very back where she had hidden it, and remove her black opal necklace, smoothing her fingers down the cold stone. It was dead like she felt dead.

She never finished school. She didn’t work outside of the home. She had nothing to give her purpose, not anything but the two babies she had given life to.

It wasn’t enough. When Eddie saw how she struggled, he suggested in his kind way medication to relieve her depression. Just like in Oshall.

And slowly, with the help of the daily dose, she slowly forgot. Everything, all that was worth remembering.

* * *

 

Eddie never touched her while they slept. Years of this, the awkward kiss goodnight, the rollover purge that distanced them.

He lay with his back towards her, breathing in such a way that she knew he wasn’t asleep. She reached out a tentative hand, his shoulder blade the first thing she came in contact with. He inhaled but didn’t turn.

“Eddie.” He stiffened. “What’s wrong with us?”

He said, his voice muffled by his arm, “Do you really want to know?”

She felt tears ready themselves. He was so cold. “Yes, talk to me.”

He flicked on the bedside lamp, not even giving her the comfort of the darkness to confront her. He rolled over, facing her but still not touching.

“He’s between us.”

She knew who he meant, and she made herself disagree. “No, that’s not true.”

“No?”

She shook her head. His voice held no tenderness, none of the love she had first seen within him.

“Jareth is--”

“See? Listen to how you say his name.” His sharpness extended to her side of the bed.

“I’m not--”

“Happy?” he growled. “Well, neither am I.”

“That’s not what I was going to say, and you know it.” She stiffened her jaw, refusing the well of tears that held firm in the back of her throat.

He moved to roll over, to place his back to her again. She pleaded with a hand on his arm.

Eddie frowned. “He’s here, with us. He’s always here.”

She grew angry at his charge. “You know, it’s not easy. I mean, I have a son by him, one who looks just like him, by the way, and you act like I’m just supposed to ignore it?”

“Have you told him?”

“Told who, what?” She felt dread come inside her. She played dumb, for she was already deceitful in her display of want.

“Adam, about his father.”

“You are his father.”

Eddie remained silent. She said again, “You are his father, Eddie. The only one he has ever known. Don’t do this.”

It had been an argument between them before. This was only put on repeat, playing its symphony over and over, the strings whining and the horns blasting. An out of tune orchestra, bleating and blaring.

He whispered, and she didn’t have to imagine the pain that he felt. It was written all over his face.

“He looks nothing like me. He’s not stupid, Sarah. The boy is thirteen and is starting to act,” he paused. “Different.”

She knew, even though she questioned. She had tried to ignore that.

“Yesterday,” he said, his jaw firm, “I saw Adam,” he stopped. “I could have sworn he _shifted.”_

Dread. “What do you mean?”

“Shifted, Sarah. Like one minute he’s there, and the next he’s practically invisible. Gone, somewhere.”

“What do you think that means?” Her voice hushed.

She knew. Magic, his power, was coming upon him now that he was older. He was able, or nearly able, to transport. Yes, he was an image of Jareth. And she knew it.

“Hell if I know. I just know that I don’t want him influencing my daughter with his,” he spit the words. “Magic.”

“Our daughter. Adam’s sister.” She flexed her hand on his arm. “They are both our children. You helped raise our son.”

“I’m sure the Goblin King would object to hearing you say that.”

“I don’t care what Jareth has to say about it. He’s not here.”

He set his jaw tighter. “Oh, he’s here. He’s between us every moment.”

“Like now, when you’re being so mule-headed?”

He snapped back, distorting their conversation into something ugly and festering. An unhealed wound that pulled pus.

“You can pretend all you want, Sarah,” he said, angry. “But I know you. You want him, still.” He snapped, “The few times you manage with that pretty little body of yours to come—who are you thinking of? It sure as hell isn’t me.”

She flushed. She did think of Jareth, but she couldn’t make herself enjoy sex with Eddie without it. He was her friend, had always been so, in her mind. She had betrayed the king enough, but couldn’t break away from the caring of him in that most intimate moment.

“That’s not--”

“True? Don’t lie to me, Sarah. His name practically shouts from your lips.” He whispered. “What are you so afraid of?”

_Loving someone besides him. Loving you when it’s the last thing I want to do._

He did roll over then. “I’m done. Let me sleep. I promised Adam and Cathy I’d play ball with them tomorrow.”

“You’re a good father.” She attempted to placate, to reel him back to her.

He grunted. She repeated, in desperation. “You are a good father. Don’t back out on them like you are backing out on me.”

“Let’s just put up with each other, okay?” He wouldn’t flip back over.

“Put up with?” She felt the tears come down her cheeks. “Is that how you feel?”

“I feel nothing.”

She grew angry. “I know. Mister Military. Never feels anything for anyone. Well, you’d better, cause those kids need you.”

He rolled over. Quick, grabbing her arm and squeezing until she felt pain.

“Stop,” she said. “It hurts.”

“How do you think I feel?”

His voice is harsh. Broken. She had never done anything but destroy, slaughter, maim emotion.

“Get off of me.”

He pulled her to him. Tight in his iron grip.

“Not this time. This time I want to hear you scream. For me.”

“No, not like this.”

She found herself pleading. Not with desire, but hurt. Her Eddie, a stranger. Maybe he always was.

He grimaced. “I want my name on your lips. And you will do it.”

She imploded. All the frustration she had, the years of waiting for love, the marriage that wasn’t, broke apart and shattered. Like a crystal in the palm.

“Like hell! Get off me, Jareth.”

She sucked in an inhaled hiss. Eddie, not Jareth, for her king would never have to resort to forcing her.

He removed his hand, wounded, a hurt animal in a snare. A sneer marked his handsome face. “So there it is. You call for him, even now.”

She felt the warmth cover her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“No.” He laughed, mirthless. “Because if it really was your king, you wouldn’t be telling him to get off. You save that just for me.”

She tried to explain. “It’s just different between you and I. We had always been friends--”

“No. I’m your fuck-buddy. Tell it like it is, Sarah.”

She remained silent. She hurt him, and the unfeeling part of her didn’t care. She had never wanted to expose how she had felt with Jareth, while she was Underground, with anyone else. Her relationship with Eddie had demanded she reveal far more than she ever wanted to.

“Alright. So things aren’t great between us,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. “But the children--”

“I think you know what I want to say about that.”

She continued, ignoring his sarcasm. “The children, they are what is important. They may be the only thing, so we have to treasure that. We—us, it doesn’t matter. We are just two adults who went into this relationship knowing too much history about the other.”

History. She didn’t mention that she knew practically nothing about his. He never talked about his life before Oshall, except that he had his military career.

He grunted, unimpressed by her rationality. “Nothing is going to change. We just,” he set his jaw, “Aren’t, anymore.”

“I know.” Her voice was nearly mute. _We never were..._

He was silent a long time, and she thought he might have gone to sleep, after all. Then, twenty minutes later, he spoke.

“Would you go back to him? If you could?”

The questions hung between them, like rotten fruit. Like a drugged peach.

“I don’t know.” She inhaled. “I don’t think it even possible.”

“But you would.” His insistance was palpable.

She sighed. “I was happy there, Eddie. Underground. Life here is...” She tried to explain. “It’s just life. It’s not living.”

“So take him.”

“What?” The exclamation burst like a grenade.

“Take. Him.” Eddie rolled over, his arms tightly folded across his muscular chest. “Take your son and go.”

“I wouldn’t take him from you. You love him.” _You have to love him…_

“Yeah.” Clipped.

“Don’t be like this.”

“Like?” It was a challenge.

“Such an ass.”

“Back to that, are we? How very different I am from your beloved Jareth. How you must put up with me.”

“I am now.”

“Go.” He commanded it. His eyes narrowed. “I won’t be second best.”

“You’re not. You’re everything,” she stammered at the pointed untruth. “All that I have here.” She amended, quiet.

He snorted. “Yeah. The Great Below. I forget how you love to hate that place.”

“I would go. Right now, anyway. I hate putting up with you in a mood like this.”

Eddie spit words at her. She shivered at his wrath.

“So wish. Make him come and take you. Go.”

She choked a sob. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? I hardly believe you incapable.”

“He won’t come. He never comes.”

She whispered the truth. Jareth was gone to her. Her fault, and now she lived alone, deep inside with her shame.

Eddie turned to the bedside table, opening it, reaching his hand in. Sarah winced. His gun, the pistol. He hovered his hand over it.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Getting something.”

“Don’t.”

“Afraid, Sarah?” His lips pulled back in a tight grimace. “Maybe you should be.”

He turned back around, something hidden in his palm. He opened it, let it loose.

Her necklace.

Eddie gripped her reminder of Jareth in his hands. He had broken the chain. Like he was breaking her.

“What did you do?” she said, her eyes wide.

“I called him.”

“You what? That’s impossible. He wouldn’t--”

Eddie hissed. “You think because he never came for you that he never would?” She nodded. “Well, you’re right. But I called him, years ago. He knows, Sarah.”

It sounded ominous. “What does he know?”

“Everything. Every time you were underneath me, he knew. Every time you came, he was there. He knows. _Everything_.”

She sucked in dry air. “You’re lying.”

He smiled, wolfish and dark. “Am I?”

“It’s impossible. I tried.”

“You tried to make him forgive you. Poor, poor, pretty Sarah. Calling on her Goblin King and never having him answer.”

She shuddered. What if he was being truthful? What if Jareth did know?

Eddie shook and twirled the necklace. “He will never answer _you._ ” He made the noun sound like a curse. “He won’t, especially not now.”

“What have you done?”

“He knows, Sarah. He knows everything.” He repeated the banter, ugliness personified.

She shrieked, not caring that her children were across the hallway, sleeping. “Stop it! Don’t lie to me.”

Twirl, twirl. Spinning circle.

“How does it feel, my love, to know that every time we touched, he was there? Watching. Hating you for being with me?”

He chuckled, an unpleasant sound that came from his guts. She feared him, at that moment.

Sarah blanched. “I...I...”

“Nothing to say?” He leaned forward and took her mouth in his, biting cruelly on her lower lip, drawing blood. “Maybe you should ask him.” He leaned back, triumphant.

She looked wildly around. “I don’t--” _See him._

“I’m here, Sarah.” Her heart stopped a pulse at the familiar voice.

_Jareth._

  


_**A/N: Don’t worry. This story is, as always, Jareth and Sarah.** _


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Not everything is what it seems…!**

  


**Chapter Twenty**

  


“Hello, Sarah.”

Her heart leapt. “Jareth!” She made to jump out of bed.

“Stop.”

His hand reached out, fingers splayed. He halted her, not just with his fierce word, but with his cold, cold face.

“What’s wrong?”

She knew. By Jareth’s face, and Eddie’s grin, she knew. Eddie hadn’t lied.

“Dear Sarah.” The king, her king, didn’t sound like he meant the endearment. She pressed on anyway.

“You’re here.”

He bowed his head in acquiescence. “I am.”

He gave no indication he was pleased to see her. She stammered. “Why are you here?”

He chuckled, sharp teeth exposed and flawless. He was beautiful, ethereal. Real. She shivered.

Jareth examined her, cool. His face was expressionless.

“I came for,” he paused, just long enough to make her wonder. To make her want. To expose her need. “My son.”

Eddie cackled, defiant on his side of the bed. Jareth ignored him as if her significant other weren’t even there. _Her significant other. Shouldn’t that have been Jareth, all along?_

She repeated, stupidly, “Your son?”

Jareth watched her. He cocked his head, a small gesture made large by his presence. “Yes.” His words were slick. “ _My son._ ”

She noted how he made possession. Not including her. She gulped.

“He’s our son.”

They had an audience with Eddie, and the king seemed not to care, or acknowledge. He focused on Sarah, his eyes still. Jareth circled the bed until he reached her side, standing a foot away. Close enough to reach out and touch. She feared to touch him; he was a specter, ghost-like in his formality. He stroked the side of his jaw with a gloved forefinger, contemplative.

Then he laughed, callous, showing her insignificance. Just a mortal. Worthless. She cringed, hearing the bell-like chime in his voice, the flow of glitter in his every day. She should never have hoped to gain him, a mirage. A dream.

“I have come for what is rightfully mine.” He stared at her, his eyes animalistic, any previous warmth he had ever shown her, not in his eyes. He didn’t include her in his statement.

“He’s sleeping.”

Jareth smiled. “No. He’s in my castle.”

She felt the flare of anger. “Your castle? You just took him?”

“I do it because I can.”

 _And you didn’t want me?_ She gulped, aware.

She felt her maternal beast. Craving, clawing. “How very godlike of you, my king. You come and steal what should never be yours.”

Jareth, the sibilant master. His voice chilled with serpentine scale. “He was always mine.” Then he bit the words that made her freeze. “Unlike you, my precious thing.”

There was no warmth, no love, in his phrasing. He was a stranger, not her Jareth.

She quivered. “What happened to you?”

He laughed again, opalescent in tone. Then his voice grew dark, bitter. “Oh, my dearest one.” He reached out a hand, so close, never touching. “I demanded Time. Over and over, from that jealous and capricious whore.”

“I demanded it.” His voice was harsh now. “And she listened.”

“What did you do, Jareth?”

“I called on her for you to cease to exist.”

 _In his heart, in his memory._ He made her disappear, his heart cold, his love gone.

She shook her head, her voice barely whispering, unable to believe. “No.”

He ignored her as if her denial had never erupted. “I came for Adam. I took him. You will forget about me.”

She felt the sting of tears. “No.” She shook her head, a negative plea branching out, repercussion gnawing.

He spoke like a monarch, not her lover. “You will.” _I demand it._

His eyes roamed over Eddie, whose arms had folded behind his head, taking in the gratuitous show. They narrowed. Dismissed.

Sarah felt the flutter of panic consume. She begged, not caring about the tears streaming down her cheeks, to an unmoving king.

“I called. I wanted you.” She feared to reach out, to the immovable statue that was Jareth. “I called over and over. The necklace,” she sobbed, “It doesn’t work.”

Jareth said, his voice patronizing, “Oh, my dear.” He started fading. “It works.”

She clawed for him. He was gone. Gone. Gone.

She screamed. Like death had devoured her, and her child wasn’t in the other room. Her child, the remaining one.

* * *

 

Sarah fell asleep crying. When she awoke late the next morning, Eddie and Cathy were gone. Their clothes were still there, all of Cathy’s books and games, in her room. Nothing was missing.

Sarah’s necklace lay on the pillow beside her, where Eddie’s head should have been.

Panic led to despair when the police, arriving upon her panicked call, showed their doubt that her family lived beyond the confines of her mind. They gazed at her like she was a crazy woman, a mixture of pity and annoyance.

“What do you mean, they never existed?” She felt the pull of anxiety grip her deep in her stomach. “They were here just last night.”

The two officers exchanged a look. She continued. “How do you explain all of their things?”

The older officer gazed at her, slow and steady. “You were in Oshall Institution, were you not, Miss Williams?”

She nodded, knowing where the question led. “I was.”

The younger placated. “Maybe you might reconsider going back. For a health check.”

“No!” They watched her, her strong reaction. She toned it down. “No, I mean, I’m fine.”

“You have family in a nearby town?” It was a stupid question; of course, they knew she did.

These men, supposed to be above the underhanded gossip in the town, didn’t elevate themselves. They acted like they knew her, but after all, what did anyone know of her?

She nodded again. “Yes, about an hour from here.”

“Maybe you should visit with them, just a little while until things have calmed down.”

The younger, brash officer, said, “Were you aware this property is in foreclosure?” He goaded her with his supposed perception.

Her eyes widened. “No.” _And if it were, it wouldn’t be any of your business..._

He grunted, made a notation. She asked, trying to peer over his notepad. “What are you writing? What does that say?”

“You suffered from paranoia and acute hallucinations while institutionalized, didn’t you Miss Williams?”

“That’s what they say,” she answered.

The older officer smiled, but it never touched his eyes. “Maybe you should take a break, a well-needed vacation, Miss Williams.”

“I don’t need a vacation. I need my children.”

The younger man reached out and patted her arm, barely touching. She wondered if he broke protocol by doing such a thing. His attitude had no sincerity, no warmth, though the older officer did not exceed him by much.

He said, “Miss Williams, we have it on the best authority that you have been under the protective custody of your father, Robert Williams until you reached the age of thirty, two years ago.” He looked at her, hard. “You resided in Oshall until your father released you at that time.”

“No. No, that’s not what happened. I’ve been here, with my children and Eddie. Eddie Greins. He was my partner.”

They exchanged glances again. “We have no record of an Eddie Greins.”

“He is real. He owns this house, which by the way, is not in foreclosure. I paid the mortgage bill for it just this month.” She tipped her chin up in defiance.

“We also have no record of any children in residence here, Miss Williams.”

She was starting to hate the way they said her name, supercilious and all-knowing. She folded her arms, more by reflex than in retort.

“They lived here. They went to school nearby.” She whispered because it was clear they didn’t believe her.

“Give Oshall—or perhaps your family a call, will you Miss Williams? It might do you some good.” The older officer beckoned to the younger, and they headed to her front door.

She blanched. She refused to let them re-institutionalize her, for she certainly wasn’t going back to that place willingly. She had to remain calm, apologetic.

“I’m sorry I called you out here, officers. I must have been mistaken.” She sucked up her panic.

“I highly suggest you take that vacation, Miss Williams.” The older officer cocked his hat at her. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” She shut the door behind them, leaning against it with a fisted hand against her closed mouth, anything to keep from screaming.

She crawled to the telephone in the kitchen, bracing her body against the refrigerator until the call went through. When she heard her stepmother’s voice, she sagged again.

“Karen!”

“What is it, Sarah?” No warmth. Little expression. It was not the voice of the woman Sarah had grown to love and appreciate.

Words jumbled out, a tangle of wish, want and need. “Cathy. Adam. You remember them, don’t you? And Eddie? I have to know that you do.”

Long silence. Longer pause after an inhaled breath.

“Sarah, are you feeling alright?”

Faintness overwhelmed her, but she refused to let it consume. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m fine.” She mumbled into the phone. “I think I just had a bad dream. Or something.”

“You sound tense.”

“No, I’m okay. Really.”

“Sarah, you never call. We haven’t heard from you in years.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. She was sorry, about so many things, the least of which were the memories that threatened to collapse around her.

Long pause. “Okay, is that all?” She could hear the clicking of her stepmother’s nails against the telephone cord.

“Yes.”

“Sarah, have you been taking your medicine? All of it?”

“Of course.”

A grunt. “Okay, then. I best check on your brother. He gets into so much these days.” The words were dismissive. Cold.

“Alright, I’ll let you go. Sorry I disturbed you.”

Her fingers shook as she put the phone back into its cradle. She sank deeper onto the floor, the beige of the refrigerator a catharsis for her body, something to hold her. Something to brace her feeble frame against wilt.

Gone. Wiped clean from existence. All of them, figments of her imagination, or a trophy of war by the Goblin King for his Labyrinthine kingdom.

The loss of Jareth was almost as painful as the loss of her children. She knew he had Cathy. He said outright he had taken Adam. Any consideration, any emotion he once had towards her, had ended. He knew what she had done with Eddie, in the bedroom. She couldn’t bandage that wound. No man in love would steal a woman’s child, and Jareth was clearly not in love with her any longer.

Crawling seemed to be the safest mode of transportation for her. Her legs wouldn’t bear her weight, and the dizziness she felt stemmed from the pain in her head and heart. She edged up the stairs to the children’s rooms.

Adam’s room looked like a tornado had blown through. Cathy was neater, her books organized, her toys put neatly in its box.

Her son’s room smelled like old socks and gym uniform and whatever he had hidden under his bed. She used to make him clean it out, or she would do it for him after a month of not touching it, but now his quirk of saving everything made her cry. He was more like Eddie with his hoarding than Jareth who had a complex for tidiness.

She hoped her son was giving him hell.

She crawled into her daughter’s room. She hovered in the doorway, body bent. Head down. It was like they had never left. She felt the tears slide down her cheeks. Cathy, her princess. Adam, her prince.

Her daughter was more like Sarah than even her son. Playful, tomboyish with a hint of prissiness. Sarah went into the room, the dismay she used to feel at her daughter’s décor, sucking up into nostalgia.

Cathy collected the shells of the cicada, a strange obsession with the insects that made her brother and Sarah cringe. She put them in small, labeled jars or mounted them on the curtains as if they were still alive and not just a sarcophagus. Her daughter was no passively sweet and idle princess. She kept up with Adam, scraped knees, broken noses and all while wearing her favorite dress of pink and purple polka dots. Sarah had made a twig tiara for her, and Cathy used to fall asleep with it on.

Her darling girl. Her impetuous boy. She would kill Jareth for taking them.

Eddie could take care of himself, and usually, she wouldn’t worry. But with the threat that Jareth had accosted her whole family, even Eddie’s military training wouldn’t help them. The Goblin King was powerful. Daunting, and out for revenge. His love had faded, and the thrill of making her pay must have consumed him. She could think of no other reason for their disappearance.

Jareth said the necklace worked. Well, by damn, she would use it to get her children back.

With impetus, Sarah made her way from the floor, her body tense and alert. Going into her bedroom, she flung herself over the cotton sheets onto her stomach. Her legs dangled over the edged brass frame. It had been her mother’s bed, once. Now it was a scene for victory.

She clutched the opal bedecked necklace in her tight fingers. It glowed, repugnant missile. It was her wormhole to the Underground, and she held it against her breast, wishing.

She was no sniveling, albeit distraught, mess. She was Sarah Williams. Conqueror. Rebel Queen.

A grin lit her face, mimicking the Mad Hatter in the storybook tale. He was crazy, but so was she. All she needed was a top hat and a white rabbit to chase. Who was Jareth, but an illusion, anyway?

Master of Dreams. Seer of Nightmare. _Or_ … Sarah Williams: Destructor. Emancipator. Chess player, extraordinaire.

She laughed, mirthless. The king would fall. The queen would have her day. Check and mate.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

  


Jareth gazed into a crystal, black as the opal of the necklace he had given his Queen. Demanding with his vision, he peered in deep; she was more lovely in her anger than he had dared assume. He laughed; dark intermixed with a deeper, passive light, tendrils of his nearly limitless power surging through his limbs. He would have her. She would be his; all she needed was a little push.

* * *

 

Adam pushed out his lower lip, never looking more like a child of Sarah than at the moment. “You’re not my father.” He grunted and folded his scrawny and newly muscular arms tight. It came out as part question, part affirmation.

Eddie languished behind his jailed bars. “Of course I’m not.” He eased onto his backside, crossing his legs beneath him, ignoring the cold stone floor. “But I would have been, my boy.”

“I’m not your boy.” The thirteen-year-old glared, his mouth tilted in rebellion. “Where’s my mother, and what have you done with her?”

“I haven’t done anything. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m holed up in a goblin prison.” The man’s voice was tart, satirical. Lost.

“Where you belong.”

Jareth came to stand behind the boy. His son. His arm went out protectively, but Adam shrugged it off.

He said, whim in his young voice, “I wish I didn’t have to be here.”

“You wish.” Jareth inhaled. The child was as prone to dreams as Sarah. He hardened himself against folly. “So futile to wish what cannot be undone, when I am the Keeper of Wish and Dream.” He softened the blow. “I would give you your mother if I could.”

“You could take me back.” The boy’s throat choked up. He cast his head down, weakened but not defeated.

Jareth had experience with children. He took them by command, after all. But this was the first time he had stolen his own child.

He didn’t miss the irony. The boy was the image of Sarah’s spirit, trapped in a youthful body that imitated the king’s. He couldn’t let any of them go. Not while the boy kept reminding him of Sarah’s bravado, and while the girl had her very face.

Cathy, the young one, he placed in a suite of rooms that befitted a princess. He rued that he couldn’t have her as his own blood. She was pure and innocent, as Sarah had been as a girl, with the hope of belief inside her. With the same tenacity that of her mother. And she had the scrapes on her knees to prove it.

Now he had a small part of her, a part of him, staring back at him with eyes of icy blue. His eyes. He looked away before the chill of despair gripped him. Sarah would come for the boy, come for her girl, but she wouldn’t return to him.

Jareth upped the stakes. He took the young female and her father, casting the man in a pit of dark. The man didn’t deserve light when he had treated Sarah as he did at the end of their relationship: cold with mutated hate. The man blamed Sarah for her lack of reciprocal love. The king knew that wasn’t how relationships worked, and the pull of give and take bled into him. How was he, Jareth, any better than this weak man?

He had begged upon the invincibility of Time to leave him bereft of his love, to steal all memory of her. His queen. Over and over, he pleaded. He had positioned himself at the gates of Death, waiting for the Fade of the Alone to overtake him, his misery overriding. Death would be a singular dream, a wish he couldn’t grant. Never had he felt the sting of immortality as much as when she left.

She crushed him, wiped him of totality, made his heart burn and sting. She wouldn’t return, not of her own accord. Jareth planned, he ciphered with Wish and Dream, he bartered against Time to bring her back to him. What use was selling himself to the Unknown if he couldn’t be granted retribution?

So many years he had waited. Watched. Grew more restless and bitter, grew ever more in love and want and denial. Sarah was his heartbeat, the soul he would never relinquish. She escaped him, but he would have her back, under him, beside him.

Adam cringed at the sight of Jareth. His lower lip protruded more than it did a minute before. “You’re not my father, either.”

“Ah, yes. The little princeling,” Jareth said, mirth in his voice. He ignored the childish taunt. “Do you wish to visit your sister?” He used pure distraction; it worked, momentarily.

“Can I?” Eager, chilling with the plead only a child that has had life ripped from him can beg.

“Of course. I wouldn’t deny you.”

Adam’s face twisted with sneaky display. He bit out, in a voice that cracked and bled with near manhood, “Mom hardly mentioned you. Except to curse. I heard her tell Dad--” he stopped. “I mean him,” he pointed at Eddie, “That you were like the devil himself. She barely ever cursed, except about you.”

“Indeed.” The smile faded. Trust the child to nip his merry clean away.

There were mischief and malice in the boy’s voice. “Oh yeah. She also said she wished herself away from the mighty king of the Underground. Maybe I should do that.”

“You wouldn’t get very far, I’m afraid. I am the Master of--”

“Yes, I know. Wishes, Time, Dreams, and Nightmare. Geez, I’ve heard it already.” The boy held snark in his tone. His arms crossed tighter. “Mom is going to come for us. I know it. She’s not afraid of anything, even you.”

Jareth conceded. His grin told the story of his plan. “I am reckoning on it, my boy.”

“When she gets here, she’s going to have your head. I mean it, mister. She’ll rip it clean off.”

“Vicious, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” said Adam in retort. “We are in a jail, and he is in it.” He pointed with dramatic intent at Eddie.

Jareth had placed them in the cell rooms by request. The boy had demanded to see his father, but upon inspection, his mood changed and he became the inquisitor. Denying the man he had known all his life, and refusing Jareth also.

Jareth loved the boy for his inherent drama. How like he and Sarah he was. Flair soared out of every part of him, the little princeling— _his son_. He would be a good king one day, overcoming the doldrums of every day, the boredom, the passivity of the unknown, all because he didn’t buckle. He didn’t bend. The goblins could flay nerves with their abhorrent forced subservience, but he surmised the youth would overtake them, just as Jareth did in his time.

Hope careened in Jareth’s heart. Years of being abject and alone now thrilled with the company that could never leave. His mind rejoiced. His, his and Sarah’s, just as it should be.

He didn’t know how he had managed to wait this long until he summoned them. He tapped at the heavily beamed bars of the jail. Praise to the man inside for being so dimwitted with his prize. Sarah wouldn’t want him back, surely. Not after the way Eddie had treated her at the end.

Yes, hope. It was a very good thing.


	22. The Finale--Chapters 22 to 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting without grammar check or beta. Sorry if it's a mess.

_**A/N: I am posting the rest of the chapters together. It’s time this rollercoaster ended.** _

  


**Chapter Twenty-Two**

  


Sarah came back to Jareth in a flurry of air and glitter-storm. Her face was a death mask. In her hand quivered Eddie’s pistol.

“Give me my children.”

Jareth looked at the pistol, then back to her face. His amusement galled her.

“Hello, Sarah.” His blond-haired head tilted to the right, contemplating her.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked, peeved. “What have you done with them?” The gun steadied. Pulsed towards him, pointed to his heart. She didn’t budge in her stance.

He circled her. “They are safe.”

She huffed. “As if I’d believe you.”

He smiled, his true self hidden. While he had the upper hand, he wanted to keep it. He disregarded the weapon directed toward him; it was a mere courtesy to allow her to let her keep it, after all.

“Come, Sarah. Are we back to that now?”

She stepped forward, invading his space for once. “I am not afraid of you.”

“Nor should you be, my dear.”

“You are a monster.”

Her voice echoed through the chamber of his throne room. It became silent, nothing stirred; nothing dared.

He sidled close. “Tut, tut, Sarah. Such hostility. Do you really think I would harm them?”

“I don’t know what you are capable of.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same for you.” He reached out, lowered her hand with the gun, removed it and placed it into the great Unknown. “Do not do something rash, my dear.” His voice was hushed, lover-like.

She hissed. “I am not your dear.”

He flinched. “I see.” Recovering, he resumed circling in a prowl around her. “In that case, we resort to formality. Miss Williams,” he said, oozing charm, “How did you manage to get to my Underground?” He showed no surprise; he revealed nothing.

She startled. “The necklace. I used it.” Her voice stammered.

He grinned again, this time using his forefinger to circle his mouth. Sarah jerked her gaze away from the lips that had once kissed her with great pleasure.

“Ah, yes,” he said, eyeing her. “The necklace.”

“How else would I have gotten back?”

His face molded into blankness, careful conceal. “You have always had the power to return, Sarah. I have never kept it from you.”

“You lie!”

She jerked forward, her arm raised. He stopped her movement, mid-air. She paused, deep in reposed thought. Defeated. Resigned, the almost-slap merely an instigator of her whim.

He forcefully, though gently, pushed her arm back to her side. “I don’t lie. I have never lied to you.”

His words bit. His face darkened, his eyes dilated to smoldering black. He was angry, and Sarah didn’t care. She never faltered, didn’t take even one step back. Her strength, as always, was impressive.

She rambled, the air between them tense. “I called for you. I tried...” She hovered on the verge of tears. Angry bitterness. “I tried to come. It never worked.”

His voice was bland. Carefully so.

“Ah, yes. But did you want it bad enough? Did you,” he paused. “Wish?”

Her eyes flared. “Of course I did, Jareth! I called every day, but I soon realized that was useless. You abandoned me.”

He bucked. “I? Abandon you, my dear? If you recall, that is not how it occurred.”

His voice dragged with hurt, hovering stagnant over the surface of their reunion. He backed up a step. She reciprocated with a forward motion.

“It doesn’t matter. I am here. And I want my babies.”

He pointed up to the dark stairs. “They are there. In their chambers. You may go to them.”

She flinched, unsure. “I didn’t know it would be so easy.”

“You think I would keep them from you? Really, Sarah, you wound me.”

“You took them! What am I supposed to think?” She watched his face, realization dawning.

She said, the fight going out of her. “You did this on purpose. You always meant for me to return.”

“Indeed.” His face was emotionless, watching her reaction.

“You’re a bastard, Jareth.” The words hushed in the space between them, soft egress.

“Perhaps.”

She flared. “You and your obscurity.” The words flamed like spewed lava. “Why can’t you ever just say what you mean?”

He stalked forward. “You want me to speak the truth? Honesty? I don’t think you do, Sarah-mine.” He circled her again, his face an angry sore.

He spat his words at her. “I waited. I watched. I begged and pleaded, _needed_ , for you to come to me. You refused.”

She stammered. “I...didn’t. You know that.”

“Do I? I saw everything, Sarah.” She flinched. “Oh, yes. _Everything_. From the moment you left, it became crystal clarity. My Sarah was pleased to move on from me.”

“That’s not true!”

“I saw you with,” he intoned silkily, his face rage and hurt and bitterness, “ _Him._ All those many times you deceived me, Sarah. I saw.”

“So you’re a voyeur now.” She folded her arms into a vice across her breasts. She was repugnant with her apologies; none were forthcoming.

“You are my other half, the missing piece of my soul.” He shrugged as if the words were flimsy petals on the wind. “I watched, and I broke, Sarah. How you do that to me.” His whispered pain softened her ear.

“Just so you know, I don’t love Eddie.”

He purred. “Oh, I know, Sarah-mine. I know. You belong to _me_!”

Possession rode between them, each lusting the affection of the other. Neither moving to bridge their gap.

She stammered. “The children...”

“Are safe.” He stood behind her, leaning his head over her shoulders.

“Please. Take me to see them.”

He leaned forward, nibbling on the drape of her neck. “You smell so sweet, my love. How can I bear it?”

She released the breath she held. “Jareth...”

“Yes, love.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making love to my _queen_.”

Her eyes flicked closed. She said, weakened. For the moment. “The children…”

He bit lightly on her earlobe, sighed, then stepped back. Out of reach. Safe.

“Let us go to them.”

He held out his hand. She reached out to him, clasped it. The fire sparked between them, never extinguished, smoldered their past into a fused cord. She waited as he placed his arms around her, enclosing her, shifting her away.

_Her children…_

* * *

  


**Chapter Twenty-Three**

  


“Mom!”

Double voices paraded her name. The delight swelled over her, over him. He always knew she’d return to him. They were the catalyst, but he was the flame that ignited.

How it had wounded him to pretend indifference. To feel nothing when all he wanted was his Queen by his side again. Jareth smiled at his family. _His!_ Nothing could take them from him, not again.

Sarah was eagerly kissing the cheeks of his son, of the daughter he should have sired, all while they fidgeted and complained and blushed. He wanted those kisses, but he was content to wait. Now he could be patient, as she was home.

She turned to him with a flushed face, joyous. Content. She smiled—at him, and he felt his heart soar.

“Thank you, Jareth.” Then she went back to her ministrations, too excited to determine his reply.

He felt the chinks of his broken soul settle back into its place. So long, so long he had waited. And waited some more. His patience was not inexhaustible. But now he could repair, heal, and nurture the past away.

Cathy’s hair was tousled, as she had gotten out of bed not long before. She had attempted to brush it, but it was Jareth who had taken the time to braid and style it every morning since she had been there.

Time was different than Above. He had had the children for many months already, and they had acclimated better than he expected.

Adam was progressing on learning his power, and how to control it. He shifted from room to room within the castle with ease now, and he was learning to maneuver into his animal form. He still had attitude, but Jareth realized it was common with children his age.

The boy looked at his mother and then at Jareth. He frowned.

“Mom?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why is he my father, and not Eddie?” He didn’t question the paternity; he questioned the meaning behind it.

Sarah stopped her affections, her face cooling as she looked over at Jareth. He folded his arms, waiting for her reply.

“Eddie is your father, Adam. His Majesty is the man that helped make you.”

“He says Eddie--”

She sighed. “Your father is the man that helped raise you. He still is, and always will be, your dad.”

Adam took a deep breath. “Can I have both of them as my dad?”

His voice was hesitant, almost scared to believe. Jareth knew the feeling. Sarah had confiscated what should have come naturally. He hid a smile. He had known his son had begun to attach himself; he hadn’t been clear if he wanted him as a father.

Sarah jerked her gaze to him. Still angry. Bitter. “Yes. Of course.”

The boy still questioned. “Is Cathy his daughter now?”

Jareth stilled. Grew stiff. That, he couldn’t control. It was up to the girl, and Sarah.

Cathy beamed at Jareth, so sweet, and somehow still the image of her devilishly cruel mother. “I like him, but I love Daddy.”

“And that’s quite alright,” Sarah said, kissing them both one more time.

She came over to where he stood, in the background but still present. She hissed, quiet but vicious tongued, “Are you proud of yourself, causing such distress to my children?”

He spread his palms wide in innocence. “Surely, my dear, you have heard of blended families. After all, you are part of one of them.”

“Yeah, and look where that got me.”

“I, for one, am delighted you wished your brother over to me. I would not have been able to speak with you without your infamous temper tantrum.”

“Temper--” She halted. “Oh, that’s rich. Jareth, you are the proverbial tantrum thrower.”

“I think you have me confused with someone else, my dear. And remember, I am your king and husband.” There was warning behind his last words. _Don’t defy me._

“You are no husband of mine.” But the words came within a hush, blended with a sigh. Dreamy and forlorn. Tossed and turbulent. A ferocious storm, paused in the middle of a lull.

He leaned in close, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear him. “I seem to recall breaking through your prized virginity.” He paused. “And you, taking mine. We are bound, as surely as if given the vows in your Above world.”

She flinched, not knowing until that moment that he had saved himself for her, for millennia. Before she existed, he knew her, a dream within his dream. The name on his skin betrothing them.

She surprised him by bursting into a giggle. “So that’s why you could see the unicorn. I never guessed.”

He felt the hint of mockery behind her words. “This amuses you, my Sarah?”

“Well, it’s just you are so old, and to have never--”

He refused to let her finish her statement. “I was beholden to you. Only you, my love. Why would I toss away for a mere instance, what we can share for eternity?”

She shook her head, not willing to budge her cold stance; her eyes, on the other hand, were ember fires of viridian green. Soaking him in and tempering her flame. She sighed, desolate and removed.

“I will die, Jareth. I am not immortal. You will still feel that sting of pain over me.”

He smiled, benevolent. “Ah, but my sweet, you are not beyond immortality. I bequeathed it to you as we,” he leaned in ever closer, nibbling at the skin on the juncture of her neck and throat, “Made complete and delicious love with each other.”

He felt her skin flush under his lips. She pulled back, looking behind her at the curious eyed children.

“Jareth, don’t. They aren’t used to it.”

“They will have to learn to be, my love. For you are, without a doubt, the most lovely and precious thing I have ever laid eyes on. I can’t keep my mouth off you.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Or your hands, it seems.”

“Indeed.”

She sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”

“My dear. I wouldn’t expect any less from you.” He held her tighter, not willing to let her go. She was home, and he felt—finally, complete.

* * *

 

Eddie still stood between them. Sarah kept watchful eyes on the king, wanting to ask many questions, but refusing to do so in front of the children.

Jareth deigned to eat with them; it was one of the few times she had ever seen him do so. He nodded his head at her, taking a bite into his mouth, letting the food slide over his lips. He knew how seductive he could look. Sarah slide her gaze away.

“So,” she said. “You eat.” Wry.

“I have to sustain myself, the same as any other.”

He made it sound practical. Not unheard of for him to finally eat something. She thought it about time he showed his humanity, even if he didn’t share the same universal breeding.

She snorted, still peeved. “I guess you are going to tell me that you won’t have to eat again for a long while.”

He smiled. “You are aware of my age, Sarah-dear. I require less than most do to function.” He grinned at the double entendre. “Is that not the standard from the Above?”

She frowned. True; her grandparents, in their older years ate frugally. She pondered again how very old Jareth was.

“The wheels are turning in that head of yours.” He took another luscious looking bite. “What folly grips at you, my dear?”

“I was thinking of how ancient you are.” She knew he was sensitive about it; their age difference only bothered him, for to her, he was perfection.

His grin disappeared. “Very ancient. With enough experience behind me to know where my battle lines are drawn, and when to retreat.” The subtle warning didn’t faze her. She laughed.

“Oh, Jareth. Come off it. I don’t really care how old you are. You are easy to tease.”

He paused, trying to make out whether she was being facetious with him. He nodded his head in acquiescence. “I suppose it comes from not having company to entertain.”

It reminded her of how alone he had been. So many years, nothing to entertain him but horrid goblins and wished away children.

She reached out and touched his arm. “Truce?”

“I wouldn’t deny you. Of course.” He grinned; he would have small revenge for her comments, that she knew.

Dinner was rambunctious, as the children were excited at having Jareth and their mom in the same room. Sarah was quiet, and she kept gazing at her husband—the word sounded foreign—as she took small bites of her food. She would have to re-learn how to eat normally.

The silence was punctuated by the giggles of the children. Long stares made their way between the adults. Desirous. Rebellious. Tinged with forgiveness.

“You aren’t eating, Sarah my love.” Jareth almost whispered the words, as if he were afraid to break the calm that bridged between them.

“I am not hungry.”

He frowned. He put another piece of fruit and more cheese on her plate. “Try. You have gotten very thin.”

“You cannot dictate how I look, Jareth.” She snapped the words. Regretted them as the children grew eyes of wide zero.

“No, but I don’t want you to faint away from near exhaustion by lack of eating, or worse, grow so ill that I cannot help you.” He coaxed, “Please try, my darling.”

Her nerves were bundled into fiery pressed knots, but she obliged. She took a mouthful of the grapes, then another of the sharp cheese. Hunger resumed, but only for a moment.

“Satisfied?” She pushed the plate away; she couldn’t force more of an appetite. She was humoring him anyway.

He grinned. “Not until tonight, I imagine.”

She flushed, feeling her insides quiver and her mouth go dry at the thought of being so near him again. Tonight. She felt paralyzed by the joy that brought her, and afraid. Not just the other night, she had laid in bed with Eddie. As _his_ woman.

He seemed to know her wary thoughts. “There’s nothing wrong with your desires, Sarah. I am looking forward to them, if I may be honest.”

She flicked her eyes to her watchful son. “Jareth. Watch your words.”

“I have much more to say than that, my love.” He grinned, his mouth in snarky quirk. “And I am watching my words. Imagine what I could say if I were not.”

She bowed her head. Her cheeks grew flushed, her body hot, clinging the sweater she had on to her skin.

She scooted the chair back. “Bedtime.”

It was a distraction, more so when the children let up an uproar and cry at her words. Jareth smiled, cocky; she had never been able to put anything past him.

After dinner, the children stalled about until they could delay bedtime no longer. Jareth helped tuck them in, to Sarah’s surprise, telling both of them their own fantastical story and dimming the lights he had placed in their rooms to help them sleep better in their strange environment.

Sarah waited outside the chambers of her children and confronted Jareth when he exited. “You’re very good with them.”

He smiled. “Do you doubt it? I love children, even more so when they are a part of you.”

He wanted her; she knew it and denied it. To give in would desecrate what she had come there for. She ached to remain angry at him. But she knew, even without argument, she had given up that battle a very long time ago, pushing it into retreat. The king won the skirmish. But the queen would take the glory and the spoils of the war.

Her face grew long. “We have to talk.”

He examined her. “Of course.”

He shifted them to his private rooms. His and hers, if she would accept them as such. He never wanted to be parted from her another night. Even to send her to the rooms beside him—the Queen’s Chambers.

She didn’t hesitate in confronting him. “Where did you put Eddie?”

Jareth hedged. “A safe place.”

She folded her arms tight. “Where?”

She saw his discomfort. “Where, Jareth?”

“He’s in my dungeon--”

“What,” she exclaimed. “Why did you put him there for?”

“It’s a good place to keep a traitor.” He snapped out the words. “Sarah, by now don’t you trust my judgment?”

 _Always…_ She just didn’t want to acknowledge defeat so soon.

“Not if it means keeping prisoner the man that has been my best friend for years.”

Jareth smirked, his anger coming through. “He was more than a friend, if I recall.”

They stared at each other, chests heaving at the words that should have remained silent. Jareth slipped his glance away. Just a second of regret, then gone.

She bit out the words in retort. “Yeah, I slept with him, Jareth. But he was never--”

Jareth raised an eyebrow, hope clouding his words. “Finish. He was never, what?”

She shrugged. “You. Okay? Is that what you needed to hear?”

His eyes brightened. He reached out to her, changed his mind. His arm dropped to his side. He quirked his mouth in reply.

“It’ll help. But I stand firmly by where I have your Eddie stored.”

“He is not an animal to be penned up.”

“He is more than an animal, Sarah.” Jareth hissed the words, and she took an unsteady step back at the harshness in his voice, so soon after affection. “He is an abomination.”

“Why? Because he dared to love me? Am I a possession now?”

He spit, his anger a palpable feast. “You are my Queen! And he, he is nothing but--” He paused, unsure for a moment. “Sarah,” he said, his mercurial mood calmed. “He is not what he seems to be.”

She stammered, not knowing of his reference. “I want to see him.” Her eyes blurred with tears.

Jareth groaned. “Sarah, please don’t cry, my love. I do this for your benefit. For the children’s.”

“He is my best friend. He protected me, kept me safe. I want to see him.” The tears fell down her cheeks. She snatched them away with her palm.

Jareth growled. “So be it. Let us go see him, then.”

He caught her up in his strong arms, holding her so close, they were one body. They shifted, and she opened her eyes to see nothing but shadows and to feel the dankness of the air.

“Stay by me. I cannot keep my goblins from coming down here.”

 _Danger._ Sarah worried. “Is Eddie safe?”

“He is safe from them.”

It was a noncommittal answer, one she wanted to be explained. But Jareth simply took her upper arm in his hand and led her along the corridor, his booted heels clicking on the stone until they reached a cell. Eddie sat on the floor by the bars, his arms draped through.

Sarah broke away from the king and ran to her friend. “Eddie! How are you? Are you okay? Are you being treated alright?” She gushed sentiment.

“Sarah.”

Eddie smiled. His face was dirty, as were his clothes. They had been ripped, a struggle no doubt. She leaned in to touch him through the barrier as he called her name.

“I’m so sorry for this, Eddie,” she said, her voice quivering.

He shrugged. “I am fine, Sarah.”

“You look hurt.” She whipped her body around to Jareth, who stood behind her. “Why is he hurt?”

“I tend to fight back when someone attacks me, love,” Jareth said, nonplussed. His arms were folded against his chest as he watched her with observant and narrowed eyes.

She snapped her words. “You know he is no match for you. He’s human, for God’s sake.”

Jareth weighed her words, considering them. “It is true he is no match for me. But Sarah, your Eddie is no human.”

He let that sink in. Her eyes widened.

She stammered. “What do you mean?” She turned her head back to her friend. “What does he mean, Eddie?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Jareth intoned, his voice—metallic rub. “Tell her.”

The jailed man hesitated. “Sarah--”

She stepped forward, her voice soft. Seductive with their years of intimacy, waylaying the last moments they shared with the other. Battling. Betraying.

“What is it? You can tell me. Remember, anything?”

Jareth said, cross at the infringing closeness. “Start at the beginning.”

Eddie sighed. “The beginning.” He sat back on his haunches, draped near the cell bars. He nodded, resigned. “I have had many names through the years--”

Her mouth puckered like she tasted something sour, knowing only unpleasantness would spew from his lips. _Months...years?_ _How long?_ _A secret, a secret._

Finian gazed over at the watchful Jareth. “Many names, some I remember, some not so much. Eddie. Donall, Finian. Further back, Henricus, and further back, my original name. Kies. I have lived a very long time, Sarah--” He burst out with firecracker want. “Know that I have loved you--”

“Enough!” Jareth said. “Pray tell, get on with it.”

“I am not human, Sarah.”

It was a simple statement, but it resonated in the chill corridor. Sarah backed up, landing on Jareth’s chest. He gripped her loosely to steady her, but she motioned forward again.

“If you aren’t human, what are you?” Whispered.

* * *

  


**Chapter Twenty-Four**

  


“ _If you aren’t human, what are you?”_

“I am Holgothm. Warrior Goblin.” The words resonated amongst them.

She stepped further forward, to reach the bars, to reach him, to pull at his clothes in anger before pushing him away in distaste. She sputtered. “You are one of _them_!” She covered her face, shaking. “You’re a...liar.” She said the word with harsh repugnance. Disbelieving. Knowing.

Jareth narrowed his eyes. “Tell her all of it.”

Sarah spun around in surprise. “There’s _more_?”

Eddie swallowed. He didn’t look her in the face. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

Jareth stepped forward, his stance of an elite warrior, the leader of the clan. Demanding and cruel, a king wholly.

“Finish,” he barked. Jareth watched Sarah out of the corner of his eye. His focus her, but also his retribution, taken out on the man before them. “Tell her how you came to be in her life.”

Sarah shook her head, her body trembling. “I don’t know if I want--”

“You must know. You have to see him for what he is.”

Jareth touched her on the shoulder. She shrugged him away. “Not now, please.” Hurt and pitiful.

Eddie observed her, his face downtrodden. “I am sorry, Sarah. I would change things if I could.”

Jareth grunted. Prodding him. Not letting him escape his sentence.

“I didn’t lie when I said I was in the military.” Eddie implored with a grubby hand. “I saw you and you were so wonderful, I fell in love with you. I didn’t lie about that, either.”

Sarah eyed him warily. “But you did lie.”

“I had to. I had come for you--” Jareth grunted again. Eddie finished. “To assassinate you.” So quiet, they strained to hear him over the dripping water and cool breeze that blew through the corridors.

“Oh. My. God.” Sarah turned to Jareth. “You knew this?”

“I watched over you. I saw he had changed his mind.” Jareth watched her warily. She was a cannon, on the threshold of an explosion.

Eddie burst out, “I did! I changed my plans upon knowing you.”

“You are disgusting.” She whispered the words. “I gave myself to you. We have a daughter--” A revelation dawned. “Wait, is Cathy half-goblin?”

Eddie smiled, wan. “You could say that.” Sarah snorted, and it wasn’t with mirth.

“Why did you want to kill me?” She got back to the crux of the problem, her voice steady, more from shock than acceptance.

Eddie shrugged. “You are the Champion. Every goblin knows what a threat you are to the throne.” He fashioned a weak grin. “Even if we always knew what you were, and our mighty king did not.”

“I’m a threat...” She looked over her shoulder at Jareth. He was still, immovable. “Why?”

Eddie spat out, his eyes darkening as they looked on the king. “You have the power to rule, to annihilate all of us if you please. We know it. He knows it. And you are something we had to destroy.”

Sarah ran her hands over her face, shaking. Then bitter laughter burst out of her. “I’m Sarah Williams. Mighty and Powerful One—Destroyer of the Goblin Kingdom. Oh, _shit_.” She shuddered.

Jareth reached out to her. She backed up. “Don’t. Just don’t. You’re as bad as him.”

Jareth’s eyes narrowed. “I have never lied to you, Sarah.”

“You knew! Why didn’t you stop him from invading my life? Why?” Tears hovered.

Jareth coaxed her. “I did what I could.”

She spat venom to the jailed man. “So you come looking for me, while I’m in a _mental hospital_ , and befriend me. You never were my friend at all. You made me believe in you.” She narrowed her eyes, examining him with all his flaws. “Am I correct on all points?”

Eddie nodded. Miserable.

She rattled off the offenses. “Then you bring me to your house while I’m trusting you, implicitly, by the way...we _have sex_ ,” she snapped, “And you are still planning to kill me, even as we are practically married?”

“No! No, not after I got to know you. Honest.”

“As if I can believe your lies.”

She turned to Jareth, turning her back to the man who persuaded her to trust and confide. “Do to him what you will. I’ll find some way to explain to the children why they can never see him again.” She stood ramrod straight, her judgment cruel and final.

Jareth smiled, a vicious and pleased grin. “As you wish.”

He turned to Eddie, his voice harsh and triumphant. “You, Goblin, are banished to the Above for your crimes against Sarah Williams, Champion. For the rest of your eternity. May the Unknown be kind.”

Eddie paled. Jareth continued in a slick undertone. “You should have known better than to try to steal what is mine.” He grinned wickedly. Then he turned to his lady and took her arm. “Come, love.”

Sarah lifted her chin, agreeing with his decision. “Take me back to my chambers, please. I want nothing more to do with this... _beast._ ”

* * *

 

Jareth watched as Sarah stalked past him when he let go of his arms after the shifting. His eyes beckoned her, but she ignored him. He had put her near his chambers but close enough to the ones she had the time before. He hoped she would choose to go into his, but she ranted and paced and opened the door to the Queen’s rooms. She didn’t give him a second glance, still angry. She shut the door behind her. He didn’t have to have magic to know she had locked him out.

He sighed and lay his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He wanted her still, furious and cruel and beautiful. How she mocked his misery.

The door flung open moments later and he almost stumbled through. “Well?” she said, irritated. “Come on in. I know you want to.”

He grinned. Yes, he wanted to. But she had to give him permission first, and that granted, he stepped inside. She folded her arms at him. She huffed, and he found her flawed anger delightful.

“So? I’m here,” she said. Her mouth puckered in a mixture of dismay and denial.

“So you are.”

Jareth observed her: her long hair, her too thin body, her tight face that looked wan and pale. Her eyes flashed at him. Still his Sarah, but worn down.

With a hesitant hand, he reached out. To his surprise but delight, she grabbed it. Held it tight, all the while staring him down.

“You are fickle,” she said. Her words held lofty airs, but there was underlying desperation. She pandered between love and hate, joy and despair.

“Sa-rah,” he said, flexing his fingers in her palm. If she could have cut off his circulation with her grasp, her hold would have done it. “I don’t change.”

“No?” she snapped. “One minute you tell me to forget about you, the next you are here, watching over me.” She whispered the words. “I want to know if you still,” she paused. “Love me?”

He remained silent. This was her play, the volley bartered, a swing of par that did nothing but shame. She was majestic. She was Queen. Oh, how he worshiped and adored her. Nothing had taken that from him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Her voice rose in crescendo.

He bowed his head with a slight incline. Regal, kneeling to her whim. She was his master. Now, only now, if he could just be hers as well.

His eyes danced. She was volatile, fire and wind. She sucked in a breath at his quiet.

He waited. And waited. She bit her lip, worrying the skin, making her mouth red and lush and wet. He watched. And waited some more.

“Say something!” Her tone was frantic.

“What do you want of me, Sarah?” he said, soft. “I would please you if I could.”

“Why, Jareth. Why?” She sucked in a weepy breath, startling him with the drastic change in mood. “I called for you. And when you finally came, you _left_ me. Why?”

“I do only as you desire,” he said, his eyes sharp. Missing nothing of her inhale, the soft sigh of pain. He did leave her; he wanted her to _know_ , to trust him, and she refused. “All that you have wanted me to be, I have been. I have done everything for you, Sarah.”

He flicked his free hand, pulling a crystal. He saw her glance at it, shame and awe, desire and loathing. He set it before her eyes.

“I can send you home, Sarah. There is no need for you to stay.”

“Like hell! You have my babies.” Her eyes flashed, swinging back to angry. Hate, consuming ire.

“You will forget them. You will forget me.” He soothed with seductive reasoning, the crystal mocking her. Mocking him.

“I don’t--” She glared at him. “Why do you do this, Jareth? I don’t want to--” She fought her temper, her gaze strict and searching.

He held it before her. Beckoning. Teasing. Letting the waves of desire crash and pull into her, luring and compelling her.

It was his last chance. It was hers, as well.

She knocked it out of his hand, it shattering in an icy ping. Gone. Her dreams.

“I don’t want them. I want you.” She said it with obstinance. She spoke it in truth, however blunt.

He fired back. “Why? Why, Sarah? I can give you your dreams.”

She lowered her head, sniffing. “My dreams,” she mocked. “I thought I knew what I wanted, years ago. When I,” she stammered, hushed. “Left.” She faced him, heroic, rebellious. “I was wrong.”

His eyes flared, cautious. Hopeful. He stayed silent, patient as he had never been before. The cost was too high to risk losing now.

“I was _wrong,_ Jareth. Forgive me.” She tugged at his arm, squeezing his hand. Not letting go. “I needed you, but I convinced myself I would be happier without you.” She frowned, pitiful. “All those years of misery. My fault.” She glared at him. “Your fault, too. I feel such emptiness, but also such a great wealth of completeness when I am with you.”

“What are you saying, Sarah?” Tight, holding in his power. Holding in his want.

She whispered, she crooned, a low keening wail that reached out and touched his heart. “Jareth...” She leaned up on her tip-toes, kissing his jaw, his bone-sharp cheeks, his mouth. He held steady, steady, never faltering. Now or never. She said the words and he saw stars flash.

“Jareth, I _love_ you. You rotten, conniving, deceitful bastard. I love you.” She added. “And I hate you, too. I guess I’m really crazy after all.”

His soul imploded, the warmth radiating from his heart to his limbs, to his fingertips, out to where he reined in his power as he touched her. He shoved off his gloves in haste, reaching to touch her skin to skin. She was his, and he was hers.

“Oh, Sa-rah.” He heard what he wanted; the rest, he shook off. She loved him. She hated him. Two sides of a coin, both passionate, both devouring.

He understood completely.

Their mouths met in frantic, wet, imploring kisses. Open mouthed, touching each part of skin and cloth and hair. Not able to get enough. Drinking and soaking in their passion. Teeth and lips and hands, reaching, pulling, reserving nothing.

“ _I love you,”_ she hissed. Devouring. Searching.

He reciprocated, the words frantic, binding. “I love you, Sarah, my beloved. Oh, how I love you.”

He lifted her into his arms, cradling her tight to his chest. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

She clutched her hands tight around the back of his neck, holding on for dear life. “No, never, for you have me bound. Keep me, let me be yours.”

“Always.” He battled her lips with his own. “Always.”

He shifted, taking her with him, back to his rooms. Back to their rooms. He would never let her go again. She wouldn’t let him.

* * *

  


**Chapter Twenty-Five**

  


Adam and Cathy had taken to them as a couple surprisingly well, but then again, these were no ordinary children. The blood of a king and the blood of a warrior rode high in their veins.

A month later, Sarah knew she was pregnant once again, and the news filled her with ecstasy. And disturbance for giving in so consumingly. It hadn’t been just the once that had done her in; she and Jareth had been insatiable in their lust for the other, every morning a greeting, every night a heated caress. More than once in an afternoon, as well.

Jareth had told her he could retreat, retracting in the moment to save her from such a fate. His face was resigned, but his willingness to keep her from pregnancy was noble. She laughed; she knew such methods were unreliable, and she wanted every reminder of him she could grab to her heart. She’d kiss him, heated or tenderly, and clasp him tighter to her, unable to let him go. Any child born was born of their intense devotion. Love. Hate. Power, all in one singular shame.

He had forgiven her. She almost forgave him.

When she had provoked, denied, teased and abandoned him, Jareth loved her enough to want her to be his. With the burgeoning swell of her belly came the ballooning of her love for him. It soared ever higher: her passion, her love, the frank delight of his body and his heart braced against hers when they made love.

His eyes as she told him, rounded. His delight compounded her own, and as the days turned into months, she never found it expired. He touched her belly, reverent, desirous. He wanted her, morning sickness and swelling and stretch marks and all.

He talked magpie fast as she lounged in the bed and he jumped in and out of it in his current excitement. He had felt the tiny contractions of her belly she knew were hiccups, and his delight held no bounds. She regretted having kept him unaware that first time around. Round and round he walked, circling the bed and then joining her, touching her stomach and then up and pacing again. From belly to lips to belly and back again, Jareth kissed her.

She smiled, but her heart was sad. She had denied him so much; how could she ever repay the loss he had suffered, for Adam, from her? Did she even care?

“I love you, adore you. My queen, my heart, mother of my children--” He was profuse in his praise, though she had heard it time and before. She never grew tired of it. It gave her glory; it gave her triumph.

“Jareth,” she said, laughing. “I am not going to fade away. You have me, completely.”

He turned to her. Eyes flared, hot and sultry. “I know, my love. But you have made me so very happy.”

“And you, also,” she said, knowing how he had returned the favor.

She rubbed the lopsided bump of her stomach. Baby Jareth was scrunched up inside of her again, and she patted what she assumed was backside. She showed more than she had with her previous babies, but she knew that was common. Her husband was still talking, and she tried to focus on his demands.

“We must have only the best doctors from here on out. Nothing is too good for my Queen and our child. Above, of course, and go to them soon. I wouldn’t want to miss any important check-ups. And the nursery aired and redecorated--”

“Jareth.” She laughed. “Are you seriously talking interior design?”

He paused, cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.” It was more a question.

“I’m sure what you have will be fine.” She stood, holding onto the chair that stood beside the mattress.

“Let me help you.” He shifted to her side, though he had been only a few feet away, not willing to garnish his responsibilities.

“I won’t break!” Her temper flared and fizzled in the same moment.

“Of course you won’t, my love.” He grinned. “By the Unknown, how I love your temper.”

She grunted. Her bladder was retracting, and she was hungry. Again.

He noted her less than stellar mood. “My love, are you alright? You seem long in the face.” He chattered his concern. “Are you feeling well? Is it the baby?” He helped her, though she didn’t require it, over to her desk where she wrote a little of her burgeoning novel every day.

“Jareth, calm yourself. I appreciate your attention, but really!”

He grinned. “Too much?”

“You? Always,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “But I love you for it.”

He settled, just a little, his face peering into hers. “Sarah, my heart, you are too quiet. You are sad.”

He nailed it. Trust him to know her so well. She felt the emotion swell inside her. “I just...regret so much.” She felt tears spill, and his anguish matched her own.

“Not...this?”

She shook her head. “No. Never.” She touched her belly reflexively. “I am so glad you are here, that’s all, this time.”

“I have sworn to never leave your side!”

His fire sounded suspiciously like a certain watchdog she had known. She smiled. Ludo, Hoggle, Sir Didymus: they had been figments of the Labyrinth, and a reminder of her imagination, but she knew now that in part, they were still residing alive within her husband.

Giggles at his valor and brim bubbled up. His face fell, for he thought she was teasing him again. She had never met such a sensitive soul as Jareth.

“I’m sorry,” she said in explanation. “I’m not mocking you. You just remind me of someone.”

He puffed up at her praising intent. “Someone gloriously handsome and virile, besides, I hope.”

“Something like that.” She bit her inner cheek to keep from chuckling at his vanity.

He nabbed her around the waist, plucking her to him. Her desires had flared, even more so, since her pregnancy started, and Jareth validated every whim. He kissed her, from neck to breast, and her thoughts went from morose to excitable.

Even after their impromptu lovemaking, Jareth didn’t relax. She loved him, but she needed a break. She made an honest plea.

“Let me just check in on the children. They have been much too quiet lately.” She made to leave, wrapped again in a dressing gown that covered her.

“I should warn you, my darling. They are planning a surprise for you.”

She groaned. “Jareth, you know how I hate surprises.”

“Let them, love. I am simply glad they are taking this so well.”

She made a small frown. “It is a bit surprising.”

“Nonsense. Our children, they are wonderful. Spirited, like you. Powerful,” he boasted, “Like me.”

She laughed. His exuberance was catching. “Jareth, promise me. You’ll warn me before they jump anything on me?”

He touched the side of his nose, contemplative and coy. “It’ll be our secret.”

She had a week before the baby was due. That night, Jareth held her in his arms and tenderly made love to her. Their passion was intense, but careful, a matter of maneuvering so as to make Sarah comfortable. She never tired of her king, for he exceeded her greatest dreams. And wishes. She smiled, going into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

She felt the rush of her water break later in the midnight. “Jareth!”

He snapped awake. “Is it?”

“Yes. Yes, hurry. Grab the children.”

His face broke into worry. She remembered that while she had been through birthing twice before, her husband had not. His look was raw and pained as if he felt every contraction, every stilled moment.

That was confirmed as he grimaced and said, “I never thought it could feel like this.”

“Buck up, baby,” she said, tossing him her nightshirt as she tucked it away from her sweating body, making ready to change into Above-ground clothing. “You’re in for a ride.” The words huffed out of her; the pain an agony she bore only for their sake.

Jareth darted from the bed to the table across the room where she had packed her bag for the hospital. He ran back to her, his face excitable and worried at the same time, putting his arm around her waist to steer her to the wardrobe.

She clamped down on his arm as the pain rode another roller coaster high and then low. “I don’t think I’m going to make it, Jareth,” she said, her voice riding the swell.

“Nonsense, my love. You’ll be fine.”

“Don’t tell me I’ll be fine!” she snapped. “I know what I’m talking about.” She broke off as another contraction hit. She moaned, and with some clarity, she knew she was right.

“I want to lay down. Help me lay down, Jareth.”

“What! No--”

“Lay me down, Jareth!”

His face soured, not from her yelling at him, but as she saw he understood her terror. Something was wrong. This was happening quick, too quick. Faster than she thought any child of hers could be born.

Sweat rolled down her face, down her body, between her heavy breasts. “I need. To. Push.”

“No, it’s not time. The hospital--”

His voice weakened. He strengthened his grip on her body. Slickness held to his face. He bore her burden, but it wasn’t enough.

“Now!” She screamed. “Jareth!”

She clutched his hand. If he could be broken, her tight grip would have done so. He winced; they were mirrors of the same pain.

“Now, now--” She pushed, not waiting for him to settle her. She was on the floor, the rug stained by her blood and sweat and fluid.

Jareth crouched in front of her. “I see their head,” he breathed, joy compounding. “I see it!” He gasped. “To the great Unknown, it’s amazing, my love!” He was happy, excited. She felt only the sharp pain that shook and brought her to near annihilation.

“Hold. My. Legs.” She commanded as she inhaled, exhaled. Quick, sharp breaths. She remembered the drill.

He braced her legs with magic. If she could have smiled at that, she would have. Jareth kneeled before her, giddy. Worried. His hands positioned at her core, ready. Waiting.

“Push, my love.” His voice trembled. “Push one more time.”

 _Something was wrong. Something was wrong._ Sarah knew it; she felt it. The life force that moved and breathed and kicked and pushed inside her was waning. She caught Jareth’s eyes. He knew it, too.

_One final. Push!_

Nothing. No cry. No movement. Just the king’s sudden and voracious tears as they splatted across her feet.

“Jareth--” She knew, she knew. She sucked in sour air. _Drip, drip, drip;_ the remainder of the sac oozed out with another heave.

Silence. Just the sound of wrenching sobs.

“Jareth… My baby.” She murmured the words, her heart broken. He placed the girl in her arms, bluish-purple and lifeless, covered in the lifeblood that ceased to pulse inside of her.

He stammered. “The cord. Around her neck.” Another deep sob. “I tried. I tried. I couldn’t…even with my magic...”

Their sobs joined and bled. She wanted to comfort him; she wanted to wish her pain away. But even the Keeper of Wish and Dream couldn’t save them now.

He lay his head on her leg, sprawled out before him. He had cleaned her, dressed her, all within the instant. But still, they lay, entangled and mourning, the child buried on Sarah’s bare breasts.

“Her name. Sarah, our baby’s name...” He halted. His words were torn, figments of their reality. Reality was cruel. Death was even crueler.

“Jacinda. Her name, Jacinda.” Her voice felt hollow.

“Yes, yes. That’s beautiful. She looks like a little flower.” His, void.

His suffering encapsulated them. Sarah knew nothing but numbness. Cold, real, violent numbness.

She turned her head. “Take her away. I can’t--”

His face scarred. He knew, understood, and kept the hurt at bay. They were twin souls, and she knew he felt her misery. But he had some of his own, and Sarah couldn’t bear the brunt of it. Not now.

He stumbled to his feet, the small blanket wrapped burden clutched tight in his arms. “The children.” He queried, and she turned her face even further into the magic-scrubbed rug.

“I’ll tell them. Later.”

He nodded. Departed. The door shut with a soft thunk. It was only then that Sarah let loose her screams. Over and over, raining out of her. Misery and pain and cold nothing; the babe that should have been nestled at her breast, instead headed out to the Unknown where she could never find her.

She screamed until her throat dried and closed in with tightness; hoarsened and raw. Like her. Like the nightmare she had been driven into. This was no fantasy; she would never wake from this dream. She shuddered. And let the blackness consume her.

* * *

  


**Chapter Twenty-Six**

  


The children asked questions that Sarah made Jareth answer. She locked herself in her room, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting to even see him.

She knew he was raw, emotional, that he took the news as rough as she did. She didn’t care; she had felt every kick, every turn, every waking and sleeping moment of Jacinda. She knew when it began, and she knew when it cruelly ended.

He’d plead for her on the other side of the door. She didn’t answer. His knocking went from fierce to almost non-existent. He was fading away; she was already lost.

In her hand, she clutched what would have been Jacinda’s take home outfit from the hospital. Small booties in creamy yellow, a sweater outfit, and onesie. It was cold Above; it was even colder in the Below. She turned the fabric within her fingers. So soft. So tiny. Holding it to her nose, cloth that had never gotten that sweet baby smell in the seams. It cradled her tears.

Her breasts hurt. She endured the pain, the last physical reminder of the pregnancy. She and Jareth hadn’t spoken directly since the night of the birth. Since the night of the death.

The locked door kept them apart. Trust Jareth to remain honorable even in the midst of his misery. She longed to see him, to touch him, to have him make everything okay. But he couldn’t. This was beyond him, and she knew it was beyond her.

She heard the whispers of her children on the other side of the door. They wanted in; she wanted peace. They were alive, but she was dead.

“Let me in, Sarah.” A harsh bang on the door. “Sarah!”

The tears jagged up. She wanted to slide out of bed, washed, dressed, feeling better, but it was impossible. She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe.

A softer slap of hand against the door. “Damn it, Sarah. Why are you doing this to us?” Pained. “I’m suffering, too.”

 _I know, my love._ She heard the cacophony of the wind through the bare trees outside, and the burst of the fire in the fireplace. She heard everything. But she didn’t hear him say he still loved her, despite her failure. So the door stayed shut, and they drifted further apart.

It was only when she dreamed at night that they rested together, hand in hand. Body against body. In her supine and fantastically unreal state, he lay beside her, forehead pressed against her neck. Curled next to her, grasping her warmth. She knew his misery. It may have been greater than her own. For as she blamed her body, he blamed his foreign kingdom and his sexual prowess before the birth.

They talked in the midst of nightmare while Morpheus chimed in staccato hours, the lull of the night sacred. Replete. In the rise of the morning, they drifted back apart, each on their own side of the door. Barriers erected and regret lingering.

 _Let me in. Let me in…_ He came to her each morning, each afternoon, to meet with her in the night. He slid down the wall, outside, his mourning echoing through the corridors. He was a broken man, and she couldn’t fix him, not this time.

Her breasts stopped their flow of nourishment, and she was healing. She wanted Jareth. She wanted to have him slide into her body and erupt in his passion. She wanted to forget...everything. She wanted to try again, even through the misery, for another child. A rainbow baby.

But what’s done is done. She knew the curse upon her; never to be loved, never to be happy, never to feel complete. All that she acquired was a wishful taste of what should be.

She opened the door that night when she heard nothing from the other side. Jareth didn’t plead for her that evening; he didn’t knock for her to let him in. Her intensity of wanting him hadn’t diminished. She ached for him to soothe, to bandage her heart, and she wanted to do the same to him.

It may have been too late.

He was sleeping outside her door, slumped onto the cold stone floor in an uncomfortable position. She stood near, watching him. So beautiful. And angry; his face scrunched up even in his rest. She didn’t have to call him; he opened his eyes and focused on her.

“Hello,” she said, soft.

“Hello.”

He answered diplomatically, bare of emotion, bare of reaction upon seeing her. He stood, full of grace and sexuality. He was king; not Jareth. He stayed silent, observing her.

She shifted her stance at his intense stare. “Are you mad?” she said.

His eyes flickered. “A bit.”

“I’m sorry--”

He cut her off, a wave of the arm and a sudden glare. “You locked me out, Sarah. I thought we were beyond that.” His voice was meticulously chill.

“We are--”

He paced around her, his feet bare, his shirt undone. He looked haggard, older, but his eyes were lit within. He was furious.

“You’re so cruel, Sarah.”

He continued to circle around her. She backed into the wall so he had limited range. He smiled, fierce, in the heat of fiery passion.

“I allowed the lock on the door, my dear,” he said, the affection spewing from his lips in sarcastic symphony. “But I never expected you to lock your own children out.”

She bowed her head. She felt weak. She was cruel, and she had no reason for it.

“Nothing to say?” He gripped her chin, tilting it up to face him. “I rather think you should listen, anyway.”

Her eyes flared, then extinguished as she saw he would have none of her histrionics. His fingers pressed into her skin, bordering on painful. Her lips clamped tight. He went from antagonizing to caressing her face. But there was little affection in the embrace. He modified his strategy, yet he was still on the warpath.

“Sarah, my Sarah. My Queen, my _love._ ” He bit the last word. “I have done everything in my power to fulfill your every whim. Bowed, pleaded as a man to the woman he adored,” he intonated, his voice sharp but bittersweet. “Allowed you your way on everything. How do you repay my generosity, my dear Sarah?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She couldn’t speak for the tears that clustered.

He snorted, elegant and proud. “Tears? I think not. They will not sway me this time, my love.” He stroked the side of her face, brushing her hair back from her face.

His mouth hovered near hers. He brushed his lips across hers, so soft she hardly felt his touch. He leaned back, his eyes dark and smoldering at her.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” she said.

He laughed, but not in amusement. “I am more than mad. I am livid.”

She stammered. “I’m sorry I locked the door. I shouldn’t have kept you out--”

“You think this is about the damned door?” He grunted. “It very well could be, but no, dear Sarah. More is involved than just a door.”

“What is it, then?”

He snapped with wrath. “Your petty selfishness. Your refusal to accept anyone in your life, no matter how much they lower themselves before you. You are a child, Sarah! A selfish, cruel and wayward child.” He grabbed her lowered chin, his voice deceptively soft. “Grow up, Sarah.”

She couldn’t respond. She sucked up her tears, and he nodded at it.

“Very good. You are learning,” he said.

She whispered, malcontent in her anguish. Repentant. “Do you still love me?”

“Does it matter?” he snapped. “You have proven that I am expendable.”

“No.” She shivered. “No, you’re not at all.”

He ran his fingers down her arm, caressing even as his words flamed and tore. He lifted up the bottom of her nightshirt and touched her on her most intimate spot, his fingers soft while his words were harsh.

“You like this, don’t you, Sarah?”

She did. Oh, she did! She nodded.

He pulled away as she drew near, leaving her pulsating and wanting. “Too bad. You can’t have it all.”

She snapped. “What is wrong with you, Jareth! Why are you acting like this?”

He nuzzled her neck. “Just treating my queen the way she treats everyone else.”

“I am not so cruel as that.”

He made her breathless. Hot and ready to convulse. He kissed down her neck, to her breasts. She pushed him away, hard. He grinned. Wolfish.

“No?” he said, draping a heavy arm around her. He pulled her up tight to his side, rocking her hard in his embrace. “I think you deceive even yourself.”

“Stop this!” Her jaw tightened. “I want to explain.”

He pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were cold, mocking. “Explain away.”

She stumbled over her words, wanting them to be right. “I know you are hurt. I am hurt, too.” He watched her, quiet. “We lost a baby, and I got angry.”

His jaw clenched. “You wouldn’t answer the door, just like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. You think you were the only one that pained after Jacinda died?”

“No.” She braced against the wall at his stare. “But I know I acted like I was. I’m sorry.”

Jareth paced forward in a stalk. “You know what? While you were hiding out in your room, I had to release our daughter to the Unknown. _By myself._ ” The words were staccato. “And by myself, I looked after the other children. I ran the Underground, by myself,” he bit in sharp caress. “I hurt, yes. But mostly I hurt because my queen—my wife, was not by my side.”

“What do you want me to do?” Her heart fluttered. He was right, and she had no excuse.

He looked at her, hard. “Do you love me, Sarah?

She nodded. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Then act like it.”

“Jareth! Don’t walk away. Please!”

He stopped. Didn’t turn around. “You know where to find me.”

“Jareth, I’m sorry!” Tears ran like rivulets down her cheeks. He kept walking.

She heard his door slam. And lock.

* * *

  


**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

  


“Mom?” Adam hovered near her side. Cathy laid her head on her lap. Both children had been her shadow for the past three days. “Are you better now?”

She nodded, but she lied. She wouldn’t be better until she got Jareth to forgive her. He was proving that he could hold a grudge. She realized very quickly how sad and lonely it was to be on the outside of a locked door.

“Is Dad,” Cathy said, “I mean, the king, going to come out? He always fixes my hair so pretty. Better than you do, Mom.”

Sarah quirked an eyebrow at her daughter’s biased statement. “He will be out. I just don’t know when.”

“Have you said you’re sorry?” Adam’s face appeared very adult, along with his question.

Sarah murmured, more to herself than to be heard. “Yes.”

Cathy blurted. “You need to show him.”

Indeed. Her children were right. Sarah had forgotten the cardinal rule of love. Love the other more than you love yourself. She had been selfish, cruel and childish. Jareth was correct on all of his accusations.

She pulled her children around her. “I have an idea. I’d appreciate your help, my darlings.”

* * *

 

Jareth heard scurrying outside his private chamber’s door. He sat in his study, book in hand but not reading. He regretted his words, how harsh he had been, but Sarah had gone too far. He was king, but she needed to be more than just a queen. He wanted a wife.

With a smile, he went over to the door and flung it open. “I didn’t know I had little mice in the castle masquerading as children.”

Adam groaned at the image, while Cathy flung herself at him, dramatic. “You’re alive!”

He chuckled, reaching out and mussing the boy’s erratic hair. He drew Cathy in for a hug. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave us ever again. It’s not fair,” Adam quibbled.

Jareth became serious. “No. I imagine it is not.” He smiled again. “I will not ever leave you, no worries.” He drew them in. “Do you wish for something?”

Cathy bounced on her tip-toes. “Yeah, to play cards! The funny ones.”

He pulled them out of the air. “These?”

The cards had mock monarchs, bulging noses, squinted eyes, all caricature. The children thought they helped them win against the king; in fact, it was one of the rare moments that Jareth wasn’t out to beat the game. He simply wanted them to have fun.

Adam rolled his eyes. “They aren’t magic, sis. He lets us win.”

Jareth gave a warning smile to his son. “Indeed. But you are very good players, so you are hard to beat.” He opened the door all the way, risking a glance into the corridor. No Sarah. “Come in, come in, my children.”

They helped him forget for a long hour, with their shrieks of laughter and teasing, about Sarah. He rued confronting her. He wouldn’t apologize—yet. His smiling and laughing with them was genuine, but in the back of his mind, he chastised himself. Maybe he had been too hard on her.

“So,” he found himself questioning, trying to be lackadaisical, “What is your mother up to?”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Cathy giggled uproariously, “She’s--” Her brother shot her a devil-glance and she hushed.

Jareth knew. Something was being contrived. He hid a smile and continued playing as if he had heard nothing. But inside, his heart soared. Sarah must forgive him; he had already forgiven her.

For an extra trick, he had the cards float and spin into place with each turn. An easy distraction, one that delighted Cathy and made Adam attempt his own, mostly botched, magic.

“You’ll get the gist of it, soon enough,” he encouraged the fuming teenager.

“Not like you,” Adam said, disgruntled.

“Better than me.” Jareth promised, and he meant it. He leaned over and plucked a stray card out of the air. “Your turn.”

With his good hearing and perception, Jareth kept an ear on the rest of the castle. It was humming. Strange. He focused more readily on the sound. Malcontent brewing. He shuffled the desk again, flying the cards through the air to land in front of each of them.

He heard the scream, low and frightened, and he pinpointed it with an immediate flurry. Sarah! What had she gone and done, now? He smiled wanly at the children and stood, keeping his worry at bay.

“I must be gone a few minutes. I will return shortly.”

Cathy hummed in acquiescence, too congenial in her loss of him not to know something. Adam appeared bored. Jareth gave the deck to his son, trying not to show his inattention.

“You deal now, son.”

Adam took them, as his eyes lit up. “Okay, thanks.” His tone was purposely bland, unimpressed.

Jareth stalked from the room, his hearing sharp, his fear mounting. The scream, it had come from below. Surely she hadn’t—

He ran with a clip down the corridors, ready to shift at the merest hint of danger. He heard her voice, low and methodical. The kitchens. Damn, what was she doing downstairs!

He heard the chattering of his goblins. They were warrior beasts, having conquered the lesser goblins in battle. These were not the same drunk, messy and inept creatures she had known on her Labyrinthine run. These were killers, and he knew how they felt about her.

He ran, then shifted mid-step. His Sarah, in danger!

Jareth slid into the kitchen, unannounced but very aware. He couldn’t risk riling the masses, but he wanted to see what was happening. He heard his queen’s voice, soothing and with a hint of tremolo.

 _I mean you no harm._ She was trying to sway them. The goblins’ voices breathed in an undertone, unsure. Angry. Jareth stepped forward, reaching into the air for a crystal of war. He paused, taking in her voice, again.

 _I am not here to rule you._ She seductively played them, coy and firm. _I am here only because I love your king. I won’t hurt you. Please don’t hurt me._

The goblins mind rose as one, after a long agonizing moment of silence. _Girl, mother of prince. Girl, mother of Goblin-girl._ They consulted amongst themselves, making their decision. Jareth’s hand steadied, ready.

_Woman, Queen. Queen, woman-Queen…_

His hand dropped, still holding the crystal. How glorious his Sarah was, winning over the beasts that had given him such trouble over the years. The ugly creatures removed themselves, and Jareth waited to show himself until after each had plowed and shuffled from the kitchen. She had conquered them, and using only a few words. She was remarkable.

He saw her slump over the kitchen counter. He entered the room with stealth, not revealing himself—yet. But he wanted to grab her and kiss her and let himself be convinced she was okay. He waited, uncertain.

“Jareth, you can come in. I don’t bite.”

“You knew I was here.”

“Yes. I was glad of it.”

He came up to the counter. It was dusted with flour, gobs of batter spewed across the stone. Her mixing spoon had clattered to the floor, still covered in mess. She had an apron tied around her, but she was dirtier than the counter and floor. He heard her sucker in her breath, holding back tears.

“You certainly handled them well.”

Jareth edged closer, treating his wife like a wounded animal. But he was wounded as well, caught in a trap of Sarah’s making.

Her tears bubbled out. Hot and harsh and full of adrenaline's rush. She threw herself at his chest, holding on, her arms a vice. He held her, unsure, but steady. She squeezed tighter, closer.

“I was so. So scared,” she said, crying hysterically. “I thought, what would I do if you didn’t come?”

“I will always protect you.”

His voice was carefully neutral. He was angry she had defied him by going where she shouldn’t, alone. But he was proud of her bravery, as always.

“You’re mad, and you have every right to be.” She squeezed him tighter, trying to fit into his skin, she was so close. He felt his body react, as always, to her touch. “I just wanted.” She sucked in air. “Wanted to do something nice for you. You like my cakes.” She mumbled, “Your sweet tooth...”

Jareth gave a hint of a smile, his lips tucked into her hair. He ran his fingers through the tangled mass, coming into contact with some of the batter near the tips. “My dear,” he said, “You are a messy cook.”

She couldn’t hear him in her grief. She tucked in another sob, breaking his heart.

She slid to her knees, bracing herself against his legs. Bowing before her king. “I’m sorry!”Apologizing for more than her stunt. Begging for redemption.

Jareth raised her gentle and firm, standing her in front of him, his equal. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

“What...what are you sorry for?” The tears ramrodded her body, though they were slowing.

“For not being a better husband. You are still human, fragile. And I have years of experience on you.”

She shook her head. “No, Jareth, no. I have been awful to you, in so many ways.” She smiled, lopsided and coy. “Please forgive me.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss over her stained cheek. “Done.”

She cast wet eyes upon him. “So easy?”

“You are my wife. Why should I make you suffer?”

“Because,” she said. “I have made you suffer.”

He sighed, pulling her near, ignoring how she dirtied his shirt. “That comes part and parcel with having a relationship, my dear.”

“Do you still love me?” she asked.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Always, my king. You are everything.” She smiled up at him. Her eyes flashed.

“And you, to me.” He tucked her tight to his body, stirring at their closeness. He knew he would always react to her; she was his other half, the piece of his heart that beckoned him.

He rubbed away flour from her cheek. She demurred. “I wanted to bake you your favorite snack. Most of it is on the floor, though.”

“Leave it. The goblins will be more than happy for the treat. Come, my Sarah.”

She took his proffered hand. “Where are we going?”

“To run you a bath. If you will let me join you?”

She flushed. “Of course. The children--”

“Are fine, for now. Come, my heart. Let us make up for lost time.” He grinned. She followed.

And he, her. Forever: intertwined, failing, redeeming, swooping and soaring. Until the unknowing of Time and When released them.

Not long at all...

\-- _finis--_

  


_**A/N: This has been an exhausting journey. Thank you for sharing it with me.** _

_**\----I have another Jareth/ Sarah story in the works. Possibly in the next few weeks I will post the beginning of it.** _


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